Sunrise
by CompanionWanderer
Summary: A chance meeting, a twist of fate, a golden thread added to the loom...and the first rays of daylight fall on one who has lived in darkness. Eilonwy's own story, during the events of The Book of Three.
1. Preface

Preface

This fic was inspired by two things:

One: by the fic _Trying Much, Loving More_, an excellent read by author LMSharp, in which she retells the events in_ The Book of Three_ from the various viewpoints of every character except Taran. I was so intrigued by the idea that it spawned a desire to do something similar. It struck me as a fascinating way to do a character study, in that the events are already plotted for us, so that burden is removed and we are free to simply get inside heads beyond the POV the story was originally written in. In the case of the fic mentioned, the author's intent was to look at Taran through the eyes of other characters to see what it was about him that made such a hodge-podge mix of individuals place their trust in his amateur leadership. A laudable project - but this is where I diverge to my second inspiration.

Two: a conversation I had with a reviewer of _The Castle of Llyr_ on amazon, whose review, though favorable toward the Prydain series in general, was very critical of the portrayal of Eilonwy as the series went on. Her accusation was that the princess's feisty spirit and independence were gradually toned down until, by the end of _The High King_, she was content to fill the stereotypical female role, forsaking her own identity, and the power and privilege of her birthright to fall into submission to her One True Love and live happily, vaguely, ever after. While I disagreed with the premise, I did find myself mulling over several of the reviewer's key points. It made me realize that, too often in my own fic, I have treated Eilonwy as half of a pairing rather than as a fully-recognized individual - unavoidable, perhaps, given my literary crush on Taran. Much as I adore him, however, it is Eilonwy as a character that has always had my heart, and I decided that hers was a story that, on its own, deserved to be told. While I played with the concept a bit in my_ Princess Diaries_, and may one day return to that phase of her life, it made sense to me to start at the beginning of the series. Technically I suppose I could have gone back even further, but for storytelling purposes, the most crucial part of her life begins the day she escapes from Spiral Castle, so that is where I begin.

A note on canon: This fic could be considered, depending on how much of a stickler you are, a bit alternate, or, perhaps, parallel universe. I have discovered that my personal approach to canon is that I think of the characters and events as "real", as though they were not _created_ so much as they were _recorded_ by the original author. I hope this does no disrespect to the beloved author of these books - though actually, I fancy most authors would say they feel the same way about their works. This philosophy affects my writing in subtle ways - the most noticeable being in my handling of dialog, which I do not always copy verbatim from the original. I frequently rearrange, truncate, or make small additions that feel right to me. My goal is to do it in such a subtle way that unless you have the book open in front of you for comparison, you usually will not even notice the differences. I just want to make the disclaimer now, so that I don't get readers pointing out, "he never said that!" or "I don't remember this exchange".

So, without further ado...

This is Eilonwy's story. In my words.


	2. Well Met

The day was darker than usual.

Of course Spiral Castle was dark in general, a moldering maze of creeping shadows even where no shadows should be; where the edges of walls were never quite where you expected them and it was almost easier, sometimes, to close your eyes and feel your way along. Only long familiarity with its eccentricities kept her from tripping over uprooted cobblestones or bashing her head into some odd-angled beam…familiarity, and the faint sense that the castle itself, behind the shadows, grudgingly responded to her will. Eilonwy had learnt in early childhood, over many explorations down endless, twisting passageways that never seemed to go where they were supposed to, that a silent _stop that _directed at the nearest wall often resulted in the swift appearance of a familiar corner or archway...and then there you were, at your own chamber door or the kitchen or the great hall, just where it should be after all.

But her will didn't make the place any lighter, so she always carried her bauble with her, to keep the shadows at bay with its warm golden glow. Even now, in mid-afternoon in the courtyard, she kept it lit, fighting the impenetrable gloom hanging over the ancient stones.

Yes, much darker than usual.

There was a tingle in the air, a tense, prickly sensation like the lull before a thunderstorm; it raised the hair on her arms and had driven her from the castle's interior. It tasted like Achren's anger, a thing Eilonwy avoided if possible, even when it wasn't directed at her. Ever since that band of nasty half-decayed _things_ had shown up at the gates and infested the castle like a pack of rats, it had been necessary, more than ever, to tiptoe around Achren. Clearly the queen was none too fond of them but had not, for whatever reason, sent them away. She called them cauldron-born, and had flown into a rage when questioned about them.

The morning's magic lesson had been interrupted by some commotion involving them, in fact. Eilonwy had been in the midst of a complicated bit of spellwork, feeling her way through sticky strands of magic like a fly trying to pick its way out of a spider web. As always during lessons, Achren was a dark presence beside her, nudging her mind in the directions the spell demanded - which were not always the directions she desired to go. To resist the queen's instruction, however, was to risk being left alone in a confusing netherworld of strange forces: a place without form or solidity, all ghosting lights and nameless colors, senseless sound and that shrill, metallic taste that filled her mouth whenever she spoke words of power. Whatever beauty there was in it would be swallowed by terror until Achren chose to rescue her, a thing that would not happen until the queen had decided her punishment sufficient. Last time her body had been cold when she was brought back to her senses.

This time, it was a knock at the door and Achren's annoyed, "Enter" that had yanked her back to the natural world. She had blinked, with a faint sense of relief, and shaken the last of the spiderwebby feel out of her ears just in time to hear a guard at the chamber door announce that a party of cauldron warriors had returned with two prisoners in tow. Achren had looked even more annoyed, but her transformation was instantaneous when the guard produced a scrap of black cloth on which something was embroidered in gold thread. The queen had risen, smacking the books shut with a wave of her red-nailed hand.

"That will do for today."

Eilonwy stared at Achren's face; usually marble-white, now flushed in unmistakable agitation. Hard experience told her that arguing was unwise when commands were given in the tone she'd just heard, yet the sight of Achren discomfited was so unusual that her curiosity was piqued. "Why must we stop? I wasn't doing it wrong."

The queen's eyes flashed danger upon her; she clutched a rune book to her chest in an involuntary self-protective gesture, but it was anger rather than fear that tightened her throat.

"Go to your chambers and stay there until supper," Achren had ordered, and swept from the room.

The warning against disobedience hovered just beneath the spoken words and needed no clarification. Eilonwy had retreated, scowling, and managed to occupy herself most of the afternoon with her books. But her chambers were dull; her casement looked upon nothing but treetops and circling ravens, and as the brooding restless spirit of the place pressed upon her she had gathered her spirits and crept out through less-traveled passageways, for once unencumbered by the castle's tricky maneuverings. Even it was preoccupied.

The courtyard was deserted – mercifully; there was nothing worse than rounding a corner and bumping into one of the hulking guards Achren kept around; Eilonwy preferred even the blank, dead stares of the cauldron-born, who could at least be counted on to ignore her. But the open leers of the guards made her blood run cold. Even Achren, in an uncharacteristic fit of seeming to care, had once warned her to avoid them all; taught her a few feathery words that diverted the attention and muddled the focus of the mind at which they were directed, long enough to slip around a corner or into a shadow without being noticed. Men, Achren said, were not to be trusted. Ever.

Not that she put a great amount of faith in Achren's declarations, knowing that lies slid between those chisel-edged white teeth just as often as the truth did. On this particular point, however, nothing in her experience had made her inclined to rebel.

Eilonwy sat down on at the bottom of a stone stairway and surveyed the empty courtyard with a sigh. She toyed with the thought of sneaking out of the castle altogether, but the few times she had attempted it had not proven successful. Not that it was difficult to get out – there were several exits, in fact, unbeknownst to Achren – but there was nowhere to _go_ once outside. She knew, from short, supervised excursions hunting for various magical herbs and stones, that the forest sprawled in every direction and there was nothing of note within a day's walk, except one deserted cluster of cottages falling into ruin. The woods themselves were pleasant, she thought; the smells of earth and green things growing were rich and alive after the shut-in dampness of castle air, there were all manner of pretty ferny plants and tiny flowers like stars strewn over the dark floor, and the sweet twitter of forest-birds was a welcome contrast to the harsh croaking of Achren's ravens. But just now the overcast gloom of the sky did not strike her as a good omen for heading out on her own, even for a harmless stroll through the woods.

She cupped the glowing sphere of her bauble in her hands and then flipped it back and forth from right to left, letting it dance over her fingertips in a bit of sleight-of-hand she had invented years ago, a test of manual dexterity in which the orb seemed to float in the air while her hands slid around it. It amused her, and even better, it annoyed Achren, whose gaze upon her bauble had always been indecipherable. Eilonwy couldn't decide whether the queen hated it or desired it, but she had never tried to take it away, which was odd in itself. It had been the girl's constant companion for longer than she could remember, and was the one thing in all the castle she could call her own possession.

Which was what prompted her squeak of dismay when her nimble fingers fumbled for a fraction of a second; the dancing sphere flirted over the back of her hand, ricocheted off her wrist, and went tumbling over the flagstones. She was up in an instant, pelting after it, muttering words overheard while hanging about the stables, and hissed her anger when it bounced to the foot of a stone wall and disappeared between the bars of a dungeon grate. Throwing herself prone upon the ground, she peered into the musty darkness within.

It took a moment, in the transition to the almost-complete darkness within, to make out the interior, and she was startled when she realized she was staring into the - also startled - face of a person roughly her own age.

She had never seen one before. The queen did not like children; there were no page boys or little scullery maids about Spiral Castle, and it was only through books and Achren's sparing explanations that she knew other young people – among much else – existed. She was so pleased to find such an unusual creature under her very feet that she forgot her ire about her bauble and stared for a long moment.

It must be a boy, for he was dressed in a loose tow-linen shirt and rough trousers, both much the worse for wear. His long straight hair was dark and disheveled and there were purple hollows around his eyes, which were regarding her with a distrustful, anxious glare under furrowed black brows.

She wondered if she ought to speak to him. You were just as likely to find a great hero as a desperate criminal in Achren's undiscriminating dungeons, but he didn't look much like either. He looked quite ordinary, in fact, which was the most interesting thing about him. At any rate he didn't look the least bit threatening, which was refreshing and unusual.

And there was her bauble, its light gone, sitting in the dirty straw at his feet like an egg in a nest. She decided to risk it, and cleared her throat.

"Please," she began, "my name is Eilonwy and if you don't mind, could you throw my bauble to me?"

He was staring at her, his expression shifting from fear to amazement, as one might stare at someone who had begun sprouting horns and turning purple. It made her excruciatingly self-conscious, and she obeyed a frantic impulse to explain herself.

"I don't want you to think I'm a baby, playing with a silly bauble, but sometimes there's absolutely nothing else to do around here and it slipped out of my hands. I was tossing it, you see, and-"

He cut her off. "Little girl, I don't—"

The title brought her rushing thoughts to an abrupt halt, and she flushed with indignation. He wasn't listening at _all._ "I am NOT a little girl," she reiterated hotly. "Haven't I just been and finished telling you? Are you slow-witted?"

It was a question Achren had flung at her many times during lessons, and it had popped out before she even thought. A small point of remorse pricked her when his stunned mouth dropped open, and she cast about for a way to soften the blow. "I'm so sorry for you. It's terrible to be dull and stupid."

His jaw dropped further. Possibly not the best choice of words either. Unused to being diplomatic, she gave it up for lost and pressed on.

"What's your name? I feel funny not knowing people's names." Not that there had ever been many people around whose names she cared to know, or had any good use for. "Wrong-footed, you know, or as if I had three thumbs on one hand. It's so clumsy-"

"I'm Taran of Caer Dallben," he blurted out, with the air of giving an answer just so she would shut up. His teeth closed instantly over his lower lip, as though he regretted his frankness.

"Oh, that's lovely!" she exclaimed, anxious to reassure him. "Really. I'm very glad to meet you." That was what you said, wasn't it, when meeting new people? She wasn't sure how she knew it, as Achren's interactions with strangers rarely involved pleasantries, but it seemed the proper thing. Probably she'd read it in a book.

He looked doubtful and said nothing else, to her disappointment. Perhaps she could prompt him. "I suppose you're a lord…" No, that couldn't be. No lord would be dressed so. His eyes flickered pleased surprise, however, and she noticed that they were very green.

"Or a warrior or war leader," she mused. His head rose, back straightening, but she had already discarded the idea; he was too young. "Or a bard. Or a monster." She brightened with interest, but his plainness made her pause. "We haven't had any monsters in a long time." The last one had been at least two years ago, but there had been nothing subtle about it, or the mess it had left behind.

"I'm none of those," the boy said, a trace of humor in his voice.

She frowned, puzzled. "What else is there?" He had to be something important. Achren never bothered imprisoning people who weren't; ordinary folks who offended her were done away with quickly so as not to waste resources.

"I am an assistant pig-keeper," he murmured, looking anxious again.

"How fascinating." She knew what pigs were. They figured in several of her books, at best creatures of some status; at worst, delicious. "You're the first we've ever had. Unless-" she paused, recalling something. "Unless that poor fellow in the other dungeon is one, too."

The boy's reaction was instant – his figure tensed and he appeared to rise a few inches toward her; he must be standing on his toes. "Tell me of him! Is he alive?"

"I don't know." She had not checked on the dungeon's other inhabitant since yesterday morning, when she'd peered into the cell on the other side of the courtyard after hearing a low groan within. "I peeked through the grating, but I couldn't tell. He didn't move at all, but I should imagine he's alive. Otherwise Achren would have fed him to the ravens." She spoke coolly, suspecting the other prisoner to be but another of Achren's lackeys fallen from favor, and resenting the boy's obvious interest when he still had not made a move to respond to her request. "Now, please, if you don't mind. It's right at your feet."

He looked down at the golden ball in the straw as though he'd forgotten it was there. "Oh. I can't pick it up. My hands are tied."

"Oh!" She scolded herself for not noticing that his arms were twisted behind his back awkwardly. Why would you tie someone's hands when they were going to be in a cell anyway? Achren must have been distracted with something else when she had thrown Taran of Caer Dallben into her dungeons. "Well, that would account for it. I suppose I shall have to come in and get it."

The expression he turned on her was condescending. "You can't come in and get it. Can't you see I'm locked up?"

She bristled at his tone. "Of course I do. What would be the point of having someone in a dungeon if they weren't locked up?" Next he would be "little-girling" her again; he couldn't seem to get it through his head that she was not a foolish child. "Really, Taran of Caer Dallben, you surprise me with some of your remarks. I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but is Assistant Pig-Keeper the kind of work that calls for a great deal of intelligence?" There. Let him see how it felt to be condescended to.

The boy's dark brows knit together in consternation; she saw him take a quick decisive breath to retort and braced herself, with no little satisfaction, for a good row.

But it was not to be. Out of nowhere, a jerk at her long hair and a painful grip at her wrist wrenched her up from the ground; she shrieked in surprise before she was muffled in the midst of the swirling chaos of crimson velvet sleeves and air-crackling anger. Pinned against Achren's solid frame, the tangled strands of her own fiery hair twisted around her face and neck, she struck out blindly against the all-too-familiar sound of a leather strap whistling through the air, the loud crack of its contact on the back of one thinly-clad thigh. It stung like a hundred wasps at once, and knocked her breath away on an animal noise of pain.

Achren wasn't particular about where stripes fell; she got them in wherever she could wrangle and jockeyed for a better grip at every opportunity. Eilonwy, anger sharpening her senses, felt the shift in the woman's balance before the next blow and threw her full weight in the same direction. There was a scuffle, a whirling moment of sky and ground exchanging places. Achren's arm wound up in front of her face and she sank her teeth into it. The queen made a sound somewhere between a scream and a snarl as she jerked free, and delivered a smack to the side of her face that made her ears ring.

For a moment she was too stunned to struggle. Achren grabbed her wrist once more, and in a whirl of velvet skirts and long silver braids yanked her toward a nearby doorway.

"You will obey me, by the gods," she thundered, "or you will suffer for it." She swept down a corridor and down several sets of staircases, half-dragging the girl behind her. Eilonwy, struggling for the look of the thing, observed the route and was not surprised when they came to the end of a hallway and Achren threw open a heavy wooden door to reveal one of the cramped, filthy cells of the dungeon.

It wouldn't do to reveal her satisfaction. She jerked her arm free of Achren's grasp, glaring at the older woman, whose face had resumed its customary haughty severity. It was a beautiful face, sculpted smooth like marble, with high arched brows, sharp cheekbones and full mouth, but Eilonwy could not remember ever admiring it.

"Since you are so fond of the prisoners' company, you may share their quarters for an evening," Achren sneered, pushing her toward the open doorway. "Perhaps the dungeon will teach you better contentment with your own rooms."

"I hope not," Eilonwy snapped. Flinging the queen's hands from her shoulders and marching of her own volition into the cell, she turned to grab the edge of the heavy door. "If it keeps me out of _your_ company I shall be glad of it." Tingling with rage, she slammed the door shut behind her before the queen could respond, half-expecting her to come storming in for more lashing. But Achren appeared to be less belligerent than usual, or at least, preoccupied. There was a harrumph from the other side of the wood, the clang of the iron bolt, and then…silence.


	3. Novelty

Chapter Two

It was the silence, really, that was oppressive about the dungeons, Eilonwy thought. The silence and the darkness. The thick walls barred all sound; the quietness actually seemed to press on your ears like a pair of deafening hands. The darkness was complete…in this underground level, no grate in the cell would admit a speck of light. It was like a black sack over your head. One could get used to dirt and spiders and even being alone, perhaps, but the silence and darkness, never.

She had no intention of getting used to any of it, however. As soon as she was certain Achren was not going to return, she dropped to all fours and scrabbled in the dirty straw underfoot, throwing it aside until she reached the stone floor beneath. She inched her fingers along the seam of one flagstone until she felt a tingle run up her arm, an indescribable sense of _knowing_.

_This one_, she thought at the castle, felt the subtle shift in its essence. And slowly, the stone seemed to…soften? No, that wasn't it; she never could describe even to herself how it felt to have solid stone part around one's fingers like water; she'd certainly never been stupid enough to ask Achren, who had no inkling of her ability, how it worked. It was something she'd discovered some years ago by accident, some trick combined of her own latent power and the castle's curious, unwilling sympathy towards her. She'd had many opportunities to be grateful for it before now.

The stone shifted as she worked it loose, got both hands into the widening crack and silently commanded _up_. It labored up, scraping its thick sides, and she puffed as she pushed it over its neighbor. She wondered how much it weighed, certain, from the acrid taste of magic seeping into her mouth, that she wasn't moving it with her unaided strength alone. It didn't matter, of course, as long as it worked, but she wished she could do it without touching the stone at all. Her hands were always stiff afterwards, for hours.

A waft of slightly less stale air brushed her face from below, and she felt for the edges of the floor where the stone had been removed, braced her hands against them, and lowered herself into the hole left behind. Bare earth met her sandaled feet and she ducked down, paused to get her bearings, and set off into the darkness in the direction that _felt_ right.

She'd never traversed the maze under Spiral Castle without her bauble, and had to admit now that it was an uncomfortable business. Not that she had any doubt of her direction, but the floor was treacherous, and several times she tripped over obstacles and turned her ankles on loose stones. A few times she had to feel her way along a wall, and tried not to think of what else she might touch besides stone and earth. Who knew what lived down here that usually disappeared down dark cracks when her bauble's glow came along?

She must retrieve it and return to her cell before Achren came back, but truth be told, it was only half her reason for picking her way toward the upper-level dungeons. She intended to satisfy her curiosity about that assistant pig-keeper as well; how convenient that he and her bauble were both in the same cell.

Why had Achren imprisoned him? What was his interest in the other prisoner? Where had he come from? Perhaps he'd be able to tell her something of the lands beyond the forest. She had never heard of any Caer Dallben, and wondered how far away it was, and whether it was large or small, and if there were any other people her age there.

It took over an hour, fumbling along in the darkness, and a long moment of thinking hard, impatient thoughts at a certain door until it stopped pretending to be a wall. But at last she found the tunnel just below the first cells. She paused, examining a mental map of the labyrinthine innards of the castle. Left, then right, then right again…yes, the boy's cell should be just above her. She groped upward in the darkness and found the cold stone over her head.

Once again stone molded like wax around her fingers, the paver shifted, then…stopped. _Up,_ she thought, irritated, _up, blast you._ Something was wrong; some weight on the stone that wasn't stone, one she had no power over, and she realized the boy must be sitting on it.

"Move away!" she shouted, wondering if he could hear anything through the thick block. The stone still would not budge, but she had a vague sense of something stirring in the cell, and shouted again. "Get off the stone!"

Silence. Confusion emanated from inside the cell, almost palpable. _Idiot_, she thought furiously. Perhaps he really was as stupid as she'd accused him of being. She'd been planning to apologize, and now decided against it. "I _can't_ lift it with you standing on it, you silly assistant pig-keeper!"

A burst of energy brushed at her consciousness and the stone sprang up and slid to the side. The palest possible square of light opened above her head; she drank it in as she reached up to grab the edges of the floor, kicked at the air, and pulled herself into the cell.

"Who are you?" the boy's voice, loud with panic, assaulted her ears from a few feet away. He was plastered flat against the wall under the grating.

"Who'd you expect?" she hissed, a loud whisper in his direction. She couldn't afford to have a guard come running to check on them. "Don't make such a racket. I told you I was coming back." Her foot thumped against something hard on the ground. "Oh, there's my bauble."

She bent to pick it up and sighed at its familiar, friendly weight in her hand.

The boy was panting from the wall, but it was in a lower, wavering voice that he called out, "Where are you? I can see nothing."

"Is that what's bothering you? Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Her bauble flared in her hand and its golden light burst into every corner, edging each stone in sharp black shadows.

The boy recoiled and turned his head away, screwing his eyes shut in pain. "What's that?"

She regarded him with wonder, as though at some strange, never-before-encountered animal. He was about her height, slim and sturdily built. The bright light revealed him to be in even worse condition than he'd appeared earlier. His shirt was torn beyond repair at neck and hem, and nearly every inch of exposed skin sported a layer of grime and blood. He was a gruesome sight, but she was used to that, and he, unlike most she encountered, looked like he might be a pleasant person underneath it all. Even if he _was _hopelessly stupid.

"It's my bauble. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"But…" he opened one eye, still squinting. "But it lights up!"

He stated the obvious so blatantly that it made her want to laugh. "What did you think it would do? Turn into a bird and fly away?" He looked affronted and she chuckled as she dropped the lit sphere on the floor and took a step toward him.

He shrank away from her but there was nowhere for him to go; when she reached him she grabbed his shoulder and impatiently twisted him around. He made a muffled sound of protest but then, realizing her intent, fell silent as she tugged at his bindings. His hands were swollen; the ropes had cut into his wrists, and she sucked in her breath. There was no reason for it at all, nothing but pure malice, and the last of her irritation drained from her as pity flooded it out.

"I meant to come back sooner, but Achren caught me talking to you," she explained, feeling a sort of kinship with him for their mutual grief at the queen's hands. "She started to give me a whipping. I bit her," she added grimly, remembering the moment with some satisfaction.

"Then she locked me in one of the cells, deep underground. There are hundreds of them under Spiral Castle, and all sorts of galleries and passages like a honeycomb, all put there by the king who built this castle...ages ago. Most of them connect to each other, and I know how to get through them." She omitted her tenuous connection with the castle itself, assuming it would only confuse him. He was silent, attentive, an exhilarating experience totally foreign to her. Achren would have told her to hold her tongue long since. "It took me longer, though, in the dark, without my bauble."

She worked the loosened ropes over his hands, noticing with growing respect his bruised knuckles and several scrapes of which he did not complain, even when she could not avoid contact with them. Freed, he pulled his arms to the front with a sigh of relief, and rubbed his discolored wrists. When she stepped back around him he finally looked her full in the face without fear. "Won't Achren know you escaped?"

His voice, when it wasn't panicked, was a nice, homely sound, warm and mid-toned and just the least bit cracked at the end of each utterance. She smiled. "No. She doesn't know I can get through the cells. And she thinks she knows all the passages, but she doesn't. Not by half. Can you imagine Achren in a tunnel? She's not as young as she looks, you know." In point of fact she did not know how old Achren actually was…only that she used some unspeakable methods of magic to maintain her beauty, the exact nature of which the queen kept carefully guarded.

The boy - Taran – blinked bemused at the irony in her tone, as though laughing at Achren was more than he could yet manage. He brushed a thick cowlick of dark hair out of his eyes with a hand that looked too big for the rest of him, and his gaze darted nervously from her to their surroundings. "Do you _live_ in this terrible place?"

"Well," she retorted, "you don't imagine I'd want to _visit_ here, do you?"

He looked back at her, eyes widening with horror. "Is…is Achren your _mother?_"

Eilonwy stared at him, incensed, and spluttered an exclamation, barely fighting down the urge to slap him for even suggesting such a thing. How could anyone be so dense? Couldn't he see she was _nothing like Achren?_

Feet planted, she threw her head back and stared him down. "I am Eilonwy, daughter of Angharad, daughter of Regat, daughter of…" she paused, noting his blank stare. "Oh, it's such a bother going through all that. My ancestors were the Sea People." No reaction. She tried once more. "I am of the blood of Llyr Half-Speech, the Sea King."

Taran seemed nonplussed, shrugging, and she frowned, unimpressed by his ignorance of what were, according to various books and even Achren's admission, rather important figures in the history of Prydain. "Well, anyway. Achren is my aunt. Or that's what she says. I'm not so sure, myself."

He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and leaned against the wall. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I said I live here," she returned irritably. "It must take a lot of explaining before you understand anything." Her hand crept to the crescent pendant dangling from the silver chain at her throat. "I was sent to Achren to learn magic after my parents died. It's a family tradition, you see. The boys are war leaders and the girls are enchantresses."

"But Achren is in league with Arawn of Annuvin!" he burst out. "She's an evil, loathsome creature!"

So he _did _know something. It was common knowledge, but she was relieved to see he wasn't a complete imbecile. "Oh, everyone knows _that_." She shrugged. "I often wish my kin had sent me somewhere else. But I think they must have forgotten about me by now." Truth be told, she had no memory of anything before living with Achren, which must mean she'd been sent there when she was very young, and she often wondered what kind of fools would send a little girl to live with a sorceress whose infamy – as Achren herself proudly acknowledged – was legendary.

She had been staring into space for a moment, reflecting, and came to herself with a start when her eyes refocused on him, noticing the red-stained gash in his left sleeve."Where'd you get _that?_" She grabbed his arm and examined it; beneath the sleeve his upper arm was sliced across - a superficial wound, but inflamed and oozing blood. The straightness of it proclaimed it the work of a blade. "I don't believe you know much about fighting if you let yourself get knocked about and cut up so badly. But I don't imagine assistant pig-keepers are often called on to do that sort of thing."

"I didn't _let_ myself get cut up," Taran protested, stiffening. "That's Achren's doing, or your aunt's. I don't know which and I don't care. One is no better than the other."

He sounded rather as though he meant to insult her, but her anger was too focused Achren-ward to be distracted. "I _hate_ Achren," she muttered, kneeling down and gathering the tattered hem of her own linen skirt into her hands. "She's mean…" She jerked, and the fabric ripped with a satisfying sound…"and spiteful…" Rip. Riiiiiip. She tried to imagine it was Achren's hair, but Achren's hair was whiter than her garment, which hadn't been white in ages. A long strip separated into her hands, trailing a few threads of the golden embroidery that had once adorned the hem, and she rose and reached for his arm. He flinched back - he was as jumpy as a cricket in a frying pan - but she seized his wrist and pinned it under her arm."Of all the people that have ever come here, you're the only one who's the least bit agreeable to talk to, and now she's had you damaged!"

He wrinkled his nose at the process of binding his wound, though whether in pain or the condition of the bandage she could not tell. "That's not the end of it. She means to kill my friend."

His friend? That fellow in the other cell, then; no wonder he'd been interested. Perhaps that was why he'd come to the castle, to rescue the man in the other dungeon. "If she does that," she informed him, "she'll include you as well. Achren doesn't do things by halves. It would be a...a shame if you were killed. I should..." she faltered, bewildered at her own dismay at the prospect, not knowing exactly how to express something so unfamiliar. "I should be very sorry."

He grabbed her hand suddenly, making her jump. "Eilonwy, listen! If there are tunnels under the castle, can you get to the other cells? Is there a way outside?"

She shrugged, staring at his hand, trying to comprehend the warm tingle that shot up her wrist at the contact. "Of course. If there's a way in, there has to be a way out, doesn't there?"

He let go, pushed past her and paced the cell in agitation; turned to face her, his face tense and determined. "Will you help us? It is important that we be free of this place. Will you show us the passage? My friend and I?"

"Let you escape?" Eilonwy blurted. Oh, blast, why hadn't she thought of it? She clasped her hands and bounced on her toes in subversive delight. "Oh, wouldn't Achren be furious at that! What a wonderful idea; more fun than anything I could think of. Can you imagine her face when she comes down to find you?" An image of that white face, stark with impotent fury, swam invitingly before her mind's eye. "I'd love to see it. Serve her right for whipping me and locking me up."

_"Listen,"_ he said impatiently. "Can you lead me to my companion?"

She considered it. The passage between the two cells, while not long, involved several hairpin turns and one crawl. "That would be very hard. Some of the galleries connect with the ones leading to the cells, but what happens is when you try to cross them, you run into other passages that..."

"Never _mind,_" he interjected, running his fingers through his hair again as though he had a mind to pull it out. "Can I join him in one of the passageways, then?"

Irritation at being interrupted made her scowl at him. "I don't see why you want to do that. It would be so much simpler for me to let you out and then go back for him. You can wait for him out in the woods." His expression said he was about to argue the point, and she cut him off. "Why do you want to complicate things? It'll be bad enough for two people crawling around down there, but imagine three! Suppose you got separated. You couldn't possibly find your way around by yourself."

"Very_ well." _ Taran of Caer Dallben was clearly about to lose his temper. "But free my companion first."

That would require a ridiculous amount of backtracking. Why did he refuse to be sensible? "That's silly," she said bluntly. "I'm here, now, in _your_ cell. Do you want to get out of here or don't you?"

"Of course I do!" He stopped pacing and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "But what if something goes wrong? What if he isn't well enough to move? Then I'll have to think of some means of carrying him, and you couldn't do that by yourself."

"It doesn't matter about me," he insisted, when she opened her mouth to argue. He was silent a moment, his face paling, before muttering, "My life means nothing to anyone. But his mission must not fail." He looked up, straight into her face, and something in the set of his chin told her he was not going to give way. "No. Free him first. You must."

"I _must_ do nothing at all, may I remind you," she huffed at him, but in spite of her irritation a tiny bud of admiration was blooming inside her at his selflessness. It made her soften, albeit ungraciously. "Have it your way. It's still more fun than doing nothing."

He sucked in his cheeks and added, "And there's a white horse, Melyngar...I don't know where they've taken her."

She frowned, tempted to call the whole thing off in return being ordered about like a servant, but settled with snorting at his foolishness. "She'd be in the stable. Isn't that where you'd keep a horse?"

He ignored her tone. "Please, you must get her too. And weapons for us. Can you manage it all?"

"Of course I can." She perched herself at the edge of the hole, and again imagined Achren's face when she found the dungeon empty. It made her giggle aloud. "This is more excitement than I've had in ages." Pocketing her bauble, she leapt to the tunnel below. The stone shifted over her raised hands and rasped back into place and then she was off, spitting into the dirt to get the magic taste out of her mouth.

It was so much easier to move about with light that she was positively cheerful as she navigated the tunnel to the other cell, except the one down which she had to crawl on her knees and elbows - which she would have to do_ twice_, she thought, muttering about the noble ideals of assistant pig-keepers. It was odd...made no sense, really. Why would anyone choose _not_ to be rescued first? Now and then, in her books, she came upon legends of great heroes who had forfeited their own lives in exchange for someone else's, or some equally worthy cause. But she'd never met anyone who'd be willing to _do_ it, and an assistant pig-keeper certainly didn't fit into the same realm as those legendary characters.

He had said his life meant nothing to anyone, she remembered suddenly, with a pang of sympathy. She knew what _that_ was like, but Great Belin, her life meant something to _her_, and she wasn't sure she'd be willing to risk it if she found herself in a situation like his.

He was a strange, fascinating creature, this Taran of Caer Dallben.


	4. Misconceptions

Chapter Three

The other prisoner's cell was bigger; the moveable stone in its floor, fortunately devoid of any feckless individuals sitting on it, slid open easily. She climbed through the hole into the silence, holding her bauble up before her.

The boy's companion was sprawled on the floor against one wall, as if he'd fallen asleep sitting up and slid down to the stones without awakening. She wondered for a moment if he were already dead, but as she crept closer, the light from her bauble fell upon his closed eyes and he emitted a rumbling snort. Mumbling something that sounded like "gi'me back...me tunin' key", he threw a long, raggedly-clad arm over his face, turned away from the light, and snored.

She giggled and held the bauble high to examine him. What she saw did not impress her: a long, lean scarecrow of a man, dressed in faded, once-colorful garments that seemed to have more patches than original fabric, his gangly legs wrapped in long strips of hide in place of boots. A swatch of pale hair stuck up in wild spikes above his overthrown arm, which rested on his long nose like a log on an andiron. His prominent cleft chin made her think of a blonde hedgehog's hindquarters.

After all Taran's insistence on his companion's importance, she had expected a more imposing personage. This scraggly fellow did not look like he could have a mission more urgent than a bath and a shave.

She started to kneel next to him and then hesitated, a surge of discomfort at such proximity to a grown man running through her. To be sure, he looked nothing like the sort of men she was accustomed to, and he was a friend of Taran, who seemed trustworthy, but...

Achren had never been specific about what it was that made them dangerous. Vague, dire warnings, like bees, buzzed in her mind. _Do not trust them. They are animals. When you are older I will teach you how to control them, but for now, stay away from them._

She frowned, shook her head; but fear welled into her throat and prickled at the back of her neck. The light of her bauble paled and flickered; in a sudden, uncontrollable moment of panic, she dropped it, plunging the cell into darkness.

She fell to all fours in the straw, frantic, clawing for the sphere, torn between the urgency of finding it and the terror of accidentally touching the other occupant of the cell instead. But her fumbling hands finally bumped against something smooth and round, and with a low whimper of relief she clutched it to her chest. Once again the light flared and the shadows fled.

The sleeping man snorted again, stirred, and groaned. The arm over his face slid away, and he rubbed at his forehead with a bony hand. His eyelids fluttered and she held her breath, backing against the opposite wall.

The movement caught his attention and his eyes flew wide; he gaped, then struggled up to a sitting position. "Great Belin," he croaked, in a voice that clearly hadn't been used for a while, "who are you?"

"I..."her voice was small; she swallowed, trembling, fighting back the poisonous whisper in her head. "I came to get you out."

He stared at her blankly. "You...I'm sorry, what?"

He looked so like a fish, his eyes and mouth round as river stones, that the very idea of his being dangerous struck her as absurd. _Lies._ Just more of Achren's lies. After all, her books were full of men who were not at all like animals. Laughter bubbled up in her throat, pushing the fear out before it, so that what came out of her mouth was an hysterical gasp. He looked alarmed. "Are...are you all right?"

She covered her mouth with one hand, stifling the giggles that wanted to burst out, and gestured toward the hole in the floor. He glanced at it, and back at her. "You came out of there?"

She nodded, gulped, and finally managed to speak. "Your friend in the other cell sent me to get you out. Can you walk?"

"My friend?" he repeated, scratching his head.

_Llyr_, she thought savagely. They were two of a kind. "Yes. Now come on. Don't you _want_ to get out? Because if you'd rather sit there like a stone in the ground, I can just go, and leave you to whatever Achen has in store for you. It won't be pleasant, I can tell you that."

This seemed to shake him back to his senses. "By all means," he exclaimed, pushing himself stiffly to his feet and stretching to his full height. "A Fflam knows an opportunity when he sees one, miss. Just let me get this..."

He turned to a corner of the cell, where lay a large weather-worn leather case of an odd shape she had not noticed before. This he picked up and slung onto his back, buckling the straps while she tapped her foot. "I don't know where this stroke of luck is coming from," he remarked, brushing the moldy straw from his jacket, "but I'm very much obliged to you, lass."

Oh, wasn't he polite. Just like the noble characters in her books. A warm flush crept down her face and neck and she smiled at him as she settled herself at the edge of the hole. "It's nothing. I mean, I'm just getting even with Achren, really, and you've no idea how difficult that is."

He rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his eyes. "Oh...I can imagine. Glad to assist in that effort in any small way, of course." She was lowering herself into the passage below, and he hesitated at the edge. "I, uh...have to go that way, do I?"

"It'll be a bit of a squeeze for you," she admitted, "but I'll go first with the light. Stay close behind me and you'll be all right." She dropped to the ground and held her bauble up to the ceiling. His long legs appeared, dangling through the hole like a spider's from its silk, and she swallowed more giggles as they waved around, searching for a foothold. "That won't work," she called up. "You have to let yourself drop through. It's only just beneath you."

"Oh, well..." his voice puffed from above. He dropped suddenly, with a yelp, stumbling to his rear when his feet couldn't quite navigate the landing. "_Oof!_ Well." He gazed around at the earthen walls of the tunnel. "Not exactly comfortable accommodations, but it's a welcome change of scenery after that cell."

She was busy replacing the stone; listened for the _crunch_ of the settling slab and turned to see him staring at her with wary discomfort. "How, um," he muttered, "how did...never mind. Who did you say you were?"

"Eilonwy," she answered briskly. "And that-" she pointed up, where the noise of footsteps was a muffled thump above their heads, "-is the change of guard. If they find you gone now they'll raise the alarm and make it much harder for you to get away, so if you haven't broken something, I wish you'd get up."

He needed no further motivation, and scrambled to his feet. "Lead on, lass! A Fflam is eager. To be gone from here, that is. I must say this place has been my poorest welcome yet."

She snorted as she led him down the tunnel. "You don't get welcomed here unless Achren asks for you herself. And even then you should be careful. Didn't you know that? Whatever brought you here to begin with?"

"Ah." His voice was breathless as he trotted to keep up with her. "Well, it's what I do, you see, wander. I had no way of knowing who lived here or I'd have kept my distance."

"It sounds very careless to visit places when you don't know who they belong to," she observed, crouching beneath a low passage. Behind her she heard him grunt.

"Great Belin, these low ceilings are a menace! What was that? Oh yes, visiting...well, I'm not always welcomed enthusiastically, I'll admit. But you'd be surprised how many decent folks there are."

"I've never met any," she declared, then added thoughtfully, "until today." She paused as the passage opened onto a gallery whose far wall displayed a confusing array of low doorways. More, in fact, than should be there. _Stop it_.

"I don't suppose you have, living here," he puffed, stopping next to her and stretching his lower back with a groan. He glowered at the doorways. "You _do_ know your way, don't you?"

"_Yes_," she declared, more to the castle than to him, and at once found the opening she needed. "Come on...I forgot to ask _your_ name."

"Fflewddur Fflam, at your service, my dear. Are there any more of those...ah...very low passages?"

"It's all low from here on out," she said, casting an amused look over her shoulder at his hangdog expression. "But it isn't much farther."

She ducked her head and bent at the waist as the tunnel shrank, and heard him behind her, puffing and blowing. "Slow down, can't you, child? I'm afraid I shall have to crawl." There was no room to turn her head to see him, but she could hear him scraping against the edges of the tunnel. "Beastly place. A mole couldn't have done better," he muttered. "Who dug all these ridiculous warrens? And how does the castle stand on top without it all collapsing?

"They were dug by the king who built it," she explained, "or so the legends go. As for how it stands on them..." she thought, puzzled, about the massive, incomprehensible weight of ancient stone above their heads, precariously perched over the fragile honeycomb of earthen mazes underground. By all logic it should _not_ be standing at all, and she wondered why that fact had never occurred to her. "I have no idea, actually."

She heard the word "unnatural" muttered in a condemnatory tone, and then he lapsed into silence but for the noise of his exertions.

A final squeeze through the tightest portion of the tunnel brought them to the outside of the castle, on the backside of a boulder half-obscured by trees. She was surprised, upon emerging, to see the sky fully dark, bearing a hazy half-moon behind banks of shredded cloud. She'd been too excited about her mission to notice the passage of time.

Fflewddur Fflam, who had squeezed through the last few feet of the tunnel with nary an inch to spare, poked his spiky head out behind her and, grunting, pulled his long limbs one-by-one out of the opening. "Great Belin," he grumbled hoarsely. "It's like being born again. I'm glad I can't remember the first time."

"Hush," she ordered. Though the front gates were on the other side of the castle, there was always the chance of a sentry on the rear walls. "Follow me to the trees. You'll be safe once you're out of sight of the towers."

They quickly made their way to the darkness under the forest canopy. Fflewddur leaned against a tree with a sigh of relief. "Ahhh, smell that air. I don't mind telling you, I don't care if I don't see the inside of a castle wall for a month."

She sniffed at the air. "It _is_ nice. Like a drink of cold water when you've been thirsty a long time." She watched him with envy as he shook the dirt out of his tattered cloak and swept it about his shoulders. He had an air of _belonging_, out here amidst the trees - and of course he_ would, _given what he'd said about wandering. She wondered what it was like to sleep outside, with the leaves whispering overhead and the sweet, free air all around. Her own casement was shut every night to keep out whatever was flying about outside - you never knew, at Spiral Castle, what that might be. Her bed was hung with heavy drapes that closed around her like dark walls, a necessary evil that kept her from watching the silent shadows and pale lights that roamed through her room at night on businesses of their own; moreover the curtains muffled further the dim, indecipherable sounds that occasionally emanated from Achren's adjoining chamber. There were certain spells that could only be performed at night, in specific phases of the moon, and all of them - in her experience - sounded horrible.

Fflewddur brought her back to herself by clearing his throat. "Well...once again, I thank you. Eilonwy, is it?" He bowed to her with surprising grace. "I'm afraid I can't do much to return the favor, but if you're ever in-"

"Wait," she interrupted in dismay, seeing that he was about to make some sort of farewell. How could he? Disappointed in him, her spirit sank like a stone in a well. "You can't leave yet! I've got to get your horse, and then go back for Taran."

His mouth opened in confusion but she cut him off. "It's a fine thing, I must say. He put you first, insisted I rescue you before him, and here you are about to go off and leave him. It's like kicking your dog."

"But I don't - " he began weakly.

"NO," She said, fuming, and turned to leave. "You wait right here. I'll be back in a moment."

She left him still stammering, and headed back to the castle.


	5. New Plan

Chapter Four

The stablehands were nowhere to be seen...drunk in the cellars, if experience was anything to go by.

There were only a handful of horses kept at Spiral Castle; Achren did not enjoy riding and did not often travel far enough to need her own mount, so most of the beasts were of the sturdy, reliable type used for packing. Eilonwy was not fond of them; they were an ill-tempered collection of nags, sour from hard use and no affection. Now they were all facing away from the pen at the end of the rows, their ears flattened against their heads as they pretended to ignore the indignant squeals of the creature shut in there.

Eilonwy crept down the center row, flicking the nose of one old gelding who snapped at her as she passed. The restless drum of hoofs scraping wood filled the stable, interspersed with the snorting of their owner. A large white head appeared over the doorway of the last pen, rolled its eyes, whinnied angrily, and then disappeared again.

She held her breath as she approached. The horse was aware of her; it backed to the opposite wall, tossed its head, and glared at her, blowing through flared nostrils.

She rested her chin on the edge of the door, marveling at the magnificent animal. She'd never seen such a beast, except recorded in silk thread on tapestries that hung inside the castle. It was large and powerfully built, but sleek, with a fine-boned broad forehead that sloped to a delicate muzzle, and an arched, elegant neck crowned with a pale gold mane. It held its long tail high like a banner and worried the ground with a slim, muscled leg.

"You must be Melyngar." The pointed ears pricked in her direction. "You're much too beautiful for this place," Eilonwy observed. "Like a rainbow down a rat-hole. I've come to get you out, but you'll have to stop that racket." She crept a hand through the bars of the door. "Shall we be friends?"

Melyngar bobbed her head and blew loudly, then froze like a statue for several long moments, the heaving of her round ribcage the only sign of life. Eilonwy, waiting likewise still, felt the horse's tension like a weight, a beam delicately balanced, about to be tipped.

_"Please,"_ she breathed, in a whisper. There was a movement, a brush as of a silk strand sliding across her mind. Melyngar whickered softly and took a step, stretching her neck across the empty space toward the girl's outstretched hand. Velvet nostrils puckered in her palm, warm and tickling.

"That's better. You're certainly more sensible than that assistant pig-keeper." The horse whickered again as she unbolted the stable door and slid inside. Melyngar took another step and pushed her nose into the girl's chest; she slid her hand up the smooth-furred nasal ridge of the big head gently. Oh, _why_ couldn't they have horses like _this?_

The white flanks were streaked with mud and rust-colored stains. Eilonwy frowned at them. "You've had a difficult day." She collected saddle and bridle from the disrespectful heap in the corner they'd been left in, and Melyngar stood still and docile while she fastened them. The horse's ears flicked back in mild reproach at her clumsy handling of the bit in the soft mouth, and Eilonwy sighed. "I suppose you can tell I've not done much of this. But I hope you'll forgive it."

The saddlebags had been rifled through but still appeared to contain some provisions of the type travelers carried. It would have to do; the kitchen would be too busy at this hour to make theft possible. She gathered up Melyngar's reins and led her out of the pen and through the rear door of the stable.

There were two guards at the front gate, and though she knew the goose-down, iron-edged words that would allow her to slip by them while they stared at the stones underfoot, she wasn't sure whether the protection afforded would be enough for the horse as well. Better to use the back gate, which could be unbolted without noise, and whose single guard was usually asleep. She held her breath at the clatter of the iron-shod hoofs on cobblestone, but in moments she and the horse were safely outside the wall, close to where she had left that Fflam fellow.

She was still annoyed with him. He had seemed so agreeable, the first man she'd ever laid eyes on whose gaze didn't make her want to shrink small into some dark corner, so well-mannered and pleasant...and then to go and try to abandon the friend who'd stayed behind for his sake! Perhaps Achren was right after all. Perhaps you really couldn't trust any of them no matter how nice they seemed. But in any case she wouldn't let it happen if she could help it. If he'd gone off through the woods while she was getting the horse, she'd track him down and let him know exactly what she thought of him. Well, after retrieving Taran, that is.

Llyr, but the whole business was getting complicated. She was beginning to wonder if she'd be able to get back to her cell before Achren came for her, and although the thought of Achren's face at finding her cell empty had its attractions, she was not eager for her secrets to be discovered. It would leave no doubt as to who had carried out the escape of prisoners under Achren's very nose, for one thing. No, she must be quick in getting Taran out, and then be back inside her cell as soon as possible. The thought made her break into a run as she neared the woods, Melyngar trotting beside her.

Fflewddur Fflam was still there, sitting against a tree wrapped in his cloak. He rose as she approached, gaping at the horse as though he'd never seen one before; she ignored his dumbfounded expression and pressed the reins into his hand. "Now," she panted. "I'm just going back for Taran, and I shall be as quick as I can. It won't be much longer, and then you can all be on your way. Whatever way that is." Giving him no chance to reply, she spun, and ran back up the slope to the patch of scrubby trees that hid the tunnel mouth.

The tense, prickly sensation that had hung over the place all day now felt positively _thick_; she almost felt a need to push the air out of the way as she slid back into the bowels of the castle. It was expectant, waiting, and played no tricks this time, but she felt as though there were eyes watching from every shadow, a will somewhere beyond the stone that knew, somehow, what the small beings scuttling about like ants in its innards were up to. She told herself not to be silly, but the feeling persisted.

It made her feel intensely discontent all of a sudden. Perhaps it was the realization that once she released Taran the whole adventure would be over, and tomorrow would be life as usual, back to books and magic lessons and monotony; back to navigating the malicious shadows and pressing watchfulness that made up her world. And Achren, always Achren - criticizing, commanding, threatening, depriving, punishing until Eilonwy thought she would go mad, possessed with an overwhelming desire to _destroy, stop, just stop her_, or at least to mar that flawless face, rend it beyond recognition. She had, with every ounce of her strength, hurled sharp or heavy objects at the queen more than once in a rage, but Achren always flicked them out of their trajectory with a graceful motion of her slim, sinuous hand, a mocking smile on her face as though it was barely worth the effort. She almost seemed to enjoy it - though that never stopped her from administering chastisement afterward.

Oh, how she hated Achren. Hated her with every breath and every heartbeat. Somehow it was worse, now - after only a scarce few minutes speaking to two strangers who didn't frighten her, who seemed glad, if shocked, to meet her and spoke to her kindly - well, mostly. Now that she knew such people existed, how could she go back to Achren's wretched company with no hope of ever seeing them again?

She wished she could trade places with the assistant pig-keeper and his friend. Whatever his mission was, wherever he and that Fflewddur were going, it had to be better than living with Achren. Perhaps...

She froze as the thought struck her in a heart-stopping, breathless moment, holding herself up with a hand on each side of the tunnel. _Perhaps she could go with them. _

She had often dreamed of running away. But it had never been more than a dream, a mad fancy that she could escape with a passing rover camp or run off and live in a hollow tree eating roots and berries until Achren tired of looking for her. Even after she had outgrown Achren's livid tales of the horrible creatures that roamed the woods and devoured children, she was too aware of the size of the forest and of her own ignorance of surviving in it to make a serious attempt. If she had any clear idea of the best direction to travel she would risk it, but as it was she'd wander aimless, and even carefully rationed provisions would not last forever. Living here was terrible but at least it was_ living_, not starving to death lost and cold in the woods.

But Fflewddur Fflam said he wandered. He must know how to forage and make his own shelter, and at the very least would know the lay of the land, and perhaps the nearest place where decent people lived, who might be willing to take her on. She had no useful skills but magic, but...well, she could worry later about how to support herself. The main thing was getting out of the castle and through the woods in safety. And though the boy and his lanky companion seemed like a bumbling pair of fools, they did have a horse at least, and she might never get a better chance.

Her heart was hammering as she began moving again, excitement building in her like a bonfire, then realized she was at the crawling portion of the tunnel again. She threw herself down with a grunt. No matter. If she had her way she'd never have to do this again, _ever._ It was an ecstatic thought.

_Suppose they refused. _She sniffed at the thought. They couldn't refuse; not after she'd gone to all this trouble. She was saving their lives, and that counted for a great deal. They could argue if they wanted, but nobody could stop her.

_Farewell, Spiral Castle_, she thought gleefully, elbowing her way through the tunnel.

_And farewell, Achren_.


	6. Delays

**Delays**

There was another rumble of heavy feet as Eilonwy neared Taran's cell for the last time and she paused to listen, concerned. The guard should not be changing again so soon. Something was amiss - perhaps Achren had found her cell empty, or Fflewddur's...in which case the next logical cell to check would be the one above her head. There was no time to lose.

Fortunately Taran required very little prodding to get a move on, and in a few moments the stone had slid into place for the last time over their heads. He crouched next to her, looking uncomfortable in the cramped space.

"This way." She turned and led him briskly into the darkness, her heart racing giddily. Every slap of her foot on the earthen floor echoed with finality in her ears_. Last steps...last time through these wretched tunnels...last few breaths of this stale air. _A few moments more, and she would be free.

Passing several openings on either side, she sensed Taran slowing to glance around and called back, "Be sure you follow me. Don't go into any of those. Some of them branch off and some don't go anywhere at all. You'd get lost, and that would be a useless thing when you're trying to escape." _Along with slowing us down considerably_, she added silently to herself, not pleased at the thought of having to go back and find him if he strayed.

She heard his steps quicken their pace and picked up her own, spurred along by her eagerness to leave the castle, barely registering his labored breath as he struggled to keep up with her. Pebbles rattled from somewhere behind them and a there was a rumble of heavy feet above. She paused, holding her light up to illuminate the ceiling. It was trembling as the rumble continued, and tiny crumbs of earth rolled down the walls. Taran came up, panting, behind her.

"We're just below the guardroom," she whispered to him. "Something's happening up there. Achren doesn't usually turn out the guard in the middle of the night."

He looked up anxiously, pale and perspiring. "They must have gone to the cells and found us gone. There was a lot of commotion just before you came." He rubbed his hand across his damp forehead, and she smothered a laugh at the streak of grime it left behind.

"You must be a very important Assistant Pig-Keeper," she observed, amused. "Achren wouldn't go to so much trouble unless..."

He shot her an annoyed look and edged further down the tunnel. "Hurry! If she puts a guard around the castle we'll never get out."

She pursed her mouth in irritation as she pushed past him. "I wish you'd stop worrying. You sound like you're having your toes twisted. Achren can set out all the guards she wants. She doesn't know where the mouth of the tunnel is, and it's hidden so well an owl couldn't see it. You don't think I'd march you out the front gate, do you?"

In truth, she was concerned, and his additional anxiety was making her all the more nervous. Getting out the castle was only half the task, after all. A complete getaway would be far more difficult if Achren began sending search parties into the woods. Perhaps she would even employ the hounds.

Sensing her escape slipping away, Eilonwy doubled her pace, sliding around the familiar curves and twists of the tunnel carelessly, in her urgency giving no notice to Taran's puffing growing fainter behind her. But presently he gave a yelp, and then, to her alarm, there was a tremendous roar - the unmistakable sound of loose, falling earth and scattering pebbles. In an instant she was scrambling back toward the sound, visions of him broken and buried under a merciless mountain of stones clawing at her mind.

Heart in her throat, she rounded a corner and saw nothing but clouds of swirling dust, but heard him faintly calling her name, and fell into a crouch, her knees weak with relief. Burying her face in her skirt to keep out the dust, she took several deep breaths to steady her nerves before looking up again, and raised her bauble as high as she could, searching for him. "Yes, I'm here! Where are you?"

His voice came, distantly, from somewhere below, and she flopped onto her belly and slid toward the dark space where it seemed loudest. The dust was settling, but what it revealed only made her heart sink. "Wait...I see. Part of the tunnel's given way. You must have slipped into a crevice."

"It's not a crevice," he called up, his voice echoing strangely as though off a cavernous interior. "I've fallen all the way down into something and it's deep. Can't you put the light into it? I've got to get up again."

She held her bauble out before her and crept forward, sliding over a shelf of rock that felt sturdy, until she came to an edge where the darkness yawned under her nose. The golden light bounced off the wall opposite, but there was no floor. "Well, you have got yourself into a mess. The ground's all broken through here, and below there's a big stone like a shelf over your head. How _did_ you ever manage to do that?"

"I didn't do it on purpose!" He sounded affronted.

She felt the castle shifting restlessly around her and frowned. This was _not_ the time for its tricks. She wondered if it would prevent her leaving if it could...she'd just bet it would, come to think of it, but it wouldn't do to let the boy know this was even a possibility.

"I've never seen this before," she said carefully. "All that tramping about above must have jarred something loose. I don't think these tunnels are half as solid as they look, or the castle, either." Fflewddur's question about how it all held together had been quite sensible, really. "Achren's always complaining about things leaking and doors not closing right."

"Do stop that prattling!" Taran's voice was an indignant blurt. "I don't want to hear about leaks and doors! Show me a light so I can climb out of here!"

Eilonwy sighed, chafing at the delay. "That's the trouble; I'm not quite sure you can. You see, that stone shelf juts out so far and goes down so steeply. Can you manage to reach it?"

She heard scuffling for a few moments and then a despairing groan. "Go on without me. Warn my companion the castle is alerted..."

Oh, for goodness sake. Really, there should be a limit to one's selflessness. "And what do you intend to do? You can't just sit there like a fly in a jug. That isn't going to help matters at all."

"It doesn't make any difference about me," he said. _That again._ "You can find a rope and come back when things are safe..."

_Not likely_, she thought. With freedom so close she could taste it, she had no intention of entering this place again once she left. "Who knows when that will be? If Achren sees me there's no telling what might happen. Suppose I couldn't get back? You'd turn into a skeleton while you were waiting - I don't know how long that takes, though I imagine it would need some time - and you'd be worse off than before."

There was a despairing silence, then..."What else am I to do?" His voice was thick; his misery swept like a wave on her consciousness. In spite of her annoyance her heart twisted in sympathy.

"That's very noble of you," she called, "but I don't think it's really necessary - not yet, at any rate. If the guards come out and start beating the woods, I hardly think your friend would stay around waiting. He'd go hide and come back for you later, I should imagine." She hesitated, remembering Fflewddur's hapless stammering as she'd left him. "Unless he's an assistant pig-keeper, too, in which case I can't guess how his mind would work."

"He's not an assistant pig-keeper," came the weary retort. "He's...well, it's none of your business what he is."

She snorted dismissively. "That wasn't very polite. Well, nevertheless, the main thing is to get you out."

"It's impossible." His voice was almost a howl. "I'm caught here, locked up better than Achren ever planned."

She had no patience for such dramatics. "Don't say that; it doesn't help." Rope, rope, what she wouldn't give for _rope!_ Surely there was something..."I could tear up my robe and plait it into a cord - though I'll tell you now I wouldn't enjoy crawling around tunnels without any clothes on." The miserable silence below took on a definite sensation of horror, and she dismissed the idea. "I don't think it would be long enough or strong enough, though. I could cut off my hair and add it in, if I had a pair of shears." She held a tangled red-gold handful of it out at arm's length appraisingly. It was several feet long, but..."No, that still wouldn't do."

His restlessness was pulsing up to her and she cut him off before he could speak. "Can't you _please_ be quiet and let me think?" If only she could see where he was! "Here, wait, I'm going to drop my bauble down to you. Catch!"

She tossed the golden ball over the edge of the stone shelf. The darkness closed upon her like a black curtain, but she kept her eye on the warm light glinting on the walls below. "Now then, what's down there? Is it just a pit of some kind?"

He was silent for a moment, but she sensed surprise, and when his voice echoed up it was brighter. "It's not a hole at all! It's a kind of chamber, and there's a tunnel here, too. "

That settled it. There was no way to get him out, and she could not, in good conscience, go on without him; meanwhile the guards were alerted and the castle was as tense as a drawn bowstring. Something was _going to happen_; perhaps was already happening, and there was no time to spend dithering about. Another tunnel meant another route, almost certainly. Before he had finished speaking, she was sliding her feet out in front of her and pushing herself over the ledge.

It was a fair drop, but she'd prepared for it, and landed squarely, pebbles rattling around her. Taran, who'd gone a few steps down the tunnel, whirled around at the sound. His face paled with shock, then reddened in dismayed fury. "What did you...why did...you addlepated fool!"

_Belin_, she thought, as he railed on, called her sanity into question, and gave them both up for lost. This boy was second only to Achren in overreacting to things. Unlike Achren, however, he was rather amusing in his outbursts, perhaps because they weren't accompanied by surges of dark magic or the threat of that leather strap. At any rate she had rather anticipated this one, and waited quietly until he'd run out of breath.

"Now, if you've quite finished, let me explain something very simple." She pointed down the tunnel. "That has to go _some_place, and chances are it will be better than where we are now."

He took a deep breath and pressed his palms to his eyes. "I...I'm sorry. I oughtn't to have called you names. But there was no reason to put yourself in danger."

A sweet thing to say...she felt a glimmering of warm affection toward him and tamped it back down ruthlessly. After all, that Fflam had been similarly polite and look how _he'd_ turned out.

"There you go again." She took her bauble from him and stepped resolutely toward the new tunnel. "I promised to help you escape and that's what I'm doing." _And unlike some people, I don't abandon my companions,_ she added silently. "Besides, I know this castle and how it works. I shouldn't be surprised if this tunnel followed the same direction as the one above, and it doesn't have half as many galleries coming off it." Eilonwy glanced around at the walls and ceiling; unlike the burrows above, these were carefully squared-off and lined with stone, the roof supported on great pillars. If you didn't know you were underground, you could almost mistake it for just another corridor in the castle. "It's certainly more comfortable."

They moved along at a better pace now, as the way was broad and tall, allowing them to walk upright and side-by-side - a situation she found novel. She couldn't remember ever walking _with_ anyone; Achren was always either forcibly dragging her or making her walk in front, "to stay out of trouble" when they were obliged to go anywhere together. It was strange, oddly unnerving to have someone at your left shoulder - rather like being in a boat unevenly weighted on one side. She felt a mild urge to throw her other arm out to balance the empty space on her right.

"How did you learn your way through all these tunnels, anyway?" he asked presently, and she almost startled at the echo of his voice off the stone walls, after the muffling effect of the earthen tunnels above.

Bitter amusement pulled at her mouth. "I've had rather a lot of time to myself. It's not the first time I've been locked in the dungeons. Achren sometimes forgets about me for days at a time."

"I thought she was teaching you magic."

"She is." A gallery opened to their left; Eilonwy glanced at it briefly, felt no inward tug, and continued on without slowing. "But the weather's more predictable than Achren. You never know if she's going to be a thunderstorm or a blizzard."

Taran shuddered, but his voice took on the trace of humor she'd heard before. "I don't suppose she's ever peaceful and summery."

This surprised a real laugh out of her and she glanced at him in pleased astonishment. "No indeed." She wondered what, exactly, his interaction with Achren had been. "Anyway, some days she makes me practice dawn to dusk. Other days she can't be bothered, or stays locked in her chamber for hours and hours. She's very busy with a lot of other things, you know, though I don't often know what they are. There are always nasty-looking people coming and going on missions of hers."

"Haven't you ever thought of running away?" he asked, and she turned a startled glare upon him, almost running into a pillar. She had not yet informed him of her intentions, feeling it would perhaps be wiser to save that revelation for once they were outside the castle.

He looked bemused at her expression. "I mean...you don't seem to belong here, really."

She chewed her upper lip as she got her balance back, and continued a few paces before muttering, "I've thought of it. Just never had the chance. I wouldn't know where to go. It's not as though there's another castle just over the next hill."

Taran slowed as they passed another gallery, and she turned a little in his direction to lead him on. "There's no sense branching off yet. Best way to get lost. We'll go straight to the end of this one; there's bound to be something there."

His face was troubled as he glanced down yet another passageway, dragging his heels. "We shouldn't have come this far."

She rolled her eyes and pressed on. "Excuse me. I forgot which one of us has spent more time down here."

"You haven't spent time in _this_ tunnel," he argued. "You don't know how long it goes on. We might go on tramping for days. And isn't it supposed to bring us out above ground? It just keeps going down deeper and deeper."

She grit her teeth, ignoring him, trying to sort out the sensations she was picking up from somewhere nearby. Somehow that strange, niggling sense of the castle being _alive_ was stronger than ever, as though they were nearing its heart, the potent source of the will that ran, like streaks of marble, through every stone. Close, very close - so close that her sense of direction was muddled, like a compass held too near to a lodestone.

They rounded a corner and came to an abrupt stop at a wall of boulders that completely blocked the tunnel. She stared at it blankly in confusion, and Taran gave a cry of dismay. "I knew it! We've gone to the end of your precious tunnel that you know so much about, and this is what we find. Now we can only go back; we've lost all our time and we're no better off."

She barely heard him; her mind was racing ahead, probing at the stones; she reached out and ran her fingers along the joints, waiting for the buzzing tingle that identified one that would move at her command. "I can't understand," she said aloud to delay Taran, who was already moving impatiently backwards, "why anyone would go to the trouble of building a tunnel like this and not have it go any place. Someone dug it and set all the rocks and it must have been a terrible amount of work. Why would anyone...?"

"I don't know!" Taran burst out. "I wish you'd stop wondering about things that can't make any difference to us. I'm going back. I don't know how I'm going to climb that shelf, but I can certainly do it a lot more easily than digging through a wall."

The wall was solid, she realized, irritated. _Not this, not now, you...you blasted pile of rocks._ There had to be some other way. There was _always_ some other way, if she could just get the place to cooperate, and it was _not_ cooperating at the moment. A strong sense of ambivalence weighed heavy on her, as though the castle itself were divided, and anything she did or said might push it in either direction.

Perhaps best, then, to treat it lightly. "Well," she said, affecting nonchalance, "it is very strange and all. I'm sure I don't know where we are."

"I knew we'd end up being lost," Taran growled. He was almost out of sight beyond the ring of light. "I could have told you that."

_Which way? Show me which way. Please_. "I didn't say I was lost," she said cautiously, stepping carefully away from the wall, testing the feel of the tunnel like a dowser searching for water. "I only said I didn't know where I was, and there's a difference. When you're lost, you really don't know where you are. When you just don't happen to know where you are at the moment, that's something else. I know I'm underneath Spiral Castle, and that's quite good for a start."

"You're splitting hairs. Lost is lost. You're as bad as Dallben."

_There!_ There it was...a threadlike pull, a tug at her consciousness, just a few paces back and to the left of where Taran was standing. "Who is Dallben?" she asked absently, moving toward him slowly so as not to lose the sensation.

"Dallben is my-oh, never mind!" Seeing her follow with the light, he turned and made his way back up the tunnel.

"We could have a look into that first side passageway," she called out, as much to the castle as to him. _That's the one, isn't it. No tricks from you, now._

Taran had slowed and peered into the opening. Coming up behind him, she held up the light to look over his shoulder. This tunnel was still paved, but it was narrow, and the stones were rougher and more hastily set. A breath of slightly less stale air brushed her face. "Go ahead, let's try this one."

"Hush," he whispered, straining his head forward and tucking his hair behind his ears. She pulled her attention away from her inward sense and listened; there were faint sounds, like the rustling of furtive animals, from far down the tunnel. "There's something..."

"Well, by all means let's find out what." She prodded him impatiently. He threw her an annoyed backwards glance and cautiously crept forward.

Gooseflesh was erupting on her arms and prickling over the back of her neck as they slipped further down; she felt her breath quicken with excitement mingled of fear and curiosity. She had no idea what was at the end of this passage, but she knew without a doubt it was something important, something powerful, something positively stiff with magic. It was drawing her in; the familiar web-like feel of sorcery was looping over her fingers and forearms and tugging her inexorably forward even as her skin crawled under it and her face stretched into a grimace at the repellant taste and smell.

The rustling grew louder, and other sounds joined it; low gibberings, high thin screeching and wailings that recalled Achren's horror stories about the cyoeraeth. She shuddered, and when Taran stopped for a moment and mopped his face with a handful of his shirt she saw his hands were shaking. He looked back and held his arm up protectively, barring her way. "Give me the light," he ordered, "and wait for me here."

Alone in the darkness with that sound? Not a chance. "Do you think it's ghosts?" she whispered. "I don't have any beans to spit at them, and that's about the only thing that will really do for a ghost." She shut her eyes, feeling about, but she sensed nothing that indicated dark magic; only ancient power, long undisturbed. "You know, I don't think it's ghosts at all. I've never heard one, and I suppose they could sound like that if they wanted to, but I don't see why they should bother. I think it's just the wind."

Taran shook his head incredulously. "Wind? How could there be...?" He stopped, as a cold current of air suddenly threaded past them, lifting strands of hair from his damp forehead. "Wait a minute. You may be right. There might be an opening." He took a breath and strode on, holding the light over his head, and she followed at his heels.

The tunnel ended in another wall of rock, but this one was pierced by a narrow crack, through which the cold current slid like an undulating rope of ice. Taran swallowed hard and wedged himself into the opening.

She followed him, heart pounding.


	7. Freedom

The force of raw magic that hit her the moment they emerged from the gap almost pushed her against the wall; a throbbing ephemeral net of invisible light that swathed around her in recognition; not dark, not evil, but frighteningly strong and penetrating. Eilonwy struggled against its sinuous grip, feeling its attempt to wind its way into her very breath patterns and heart rhythm; shook her head and gasped deliberately against its beat. _No. No. I am my own. Not yours. _

The probing subsided, but the magic still clung to her like a choking vine to its tree, so tangible that she glanced at Taran in wonder; how could he not _feel_ it? He was gazing around at their surroundings, awestruck and anxious, but gave no indication that he sensed anything other than what his eyes and ears told him. Almost she envied him for it.

The chamber was not large, but it was cluttered; the floor was littered with the skeletal remnants of a dozen or so armored men encircling a central stone dais. Baskets and jars lined the walls; the golden light glittered upon their contents like a handful of stars strewn upon the floor. Weapons and armor were scattered about and piled in heaps. "I'm sure Achren hasn't any idea all this is here," Eilonwy whispered to Taran, who was bending over one of the corpses. "She'd have hauled it out long ago; she loves jewelry, though it doesn't become her one bit." She picked up a brooch from the floor at her feet to examine it; a lovely thing, wrought in silver knots around a single blood-red jewel, but it tingled warningly in her hand and she dropped it, grimacing. _Cursed._ Thank the fates Achren didn't know about this place. She was bad enough without being hung all about with cursed enchanted jewelry.

"Surely it is the barrow of the king who built this castle," Taran said reverently. They both turned their gazes to the stone slab in the center, and picked their way through the fallen warriors for a closer look.

She barely noticed the crowned skull that grinned at them from the richly-clothed figure; the magic around her swirled and concentrated in a viscous funnel, sucking her gaze to the sword clutched in the bony hands. For a moment, it was the only thing she saw, etched in her mind like the blinding ghost image of a lightning bolt against her closed eyes. In an instant of breathless, startling familiarity she knew. _This_.

_This was the heart of Spiral Castle_.

_This_ was the will that she felt in the stone, the almost-voice in the silence, the grudging sympathy that bent itself around her, unpredictable, sometimes capricious, but never malicious; or, at least, she now realized, never with a malice directed against _her_. This...thing, this enormous mass of power made small and trapped in the shape of a sword; she could feel it chafing at its own inactivity, burdened by its boundaries. It had been made for more than this.

It held her mind captive, singular of purpose. _Freedom. _

Taran had already left the dais; she was dimly aware that he had despoiled one of the fallen warriors; heard him shout triumphantly that he'd found a passage. Her hand closed, almost unconsciously, on the jeweled hilt, and a jolt of power, hot and prickly, surged up her arm like quicksilver and swept her from head to toe. _Freedom. For both of us._

The clawed hands of the ancient king crumbled away as she jerked the scabbard free, and in her mind the magic sang with fierce, ecstatic joy.

The sword shook in her hands as she stumbled away from the slab in a daze; to her right, Taran's legs were disappearing into a low crack in the stone wall. She threw herself after him with a sensation that she was breaking through a barrier; the web of light in her mind's eye shivered and cracked, bursting into a million sparkling fragments and something huge, something _massive_, shifted and quaked; she felt it both in her inmost being and in the sudden tremor of the earth around her.

The passage was a crawl and she clawed her way forward blindly, gasping as the ground shook. The earth rumbled. In terror she realized the tunnel was collapsing, and shrieked as the ceiling in front of her gave way in a rush.

All at once the world turned to a agonized chaos of falling stones and earth, thunderous noise and movement that went on and on. She was tumbled about like the seeds in a gourd-rattle for what seemed like a very long time, but finally the ground became solid under her and she stared confusedly at a line of trees illuminated in a ghastly blue light. It briefly turned to a flash of blinding white as lightning streaked across the sky. She attempted to get to her feet, realized she was pinned from the chest down in the rubble of the collapsed tunnel, and shrieked for Taran.

She feared he'd also been buried, but to her great relief he came running, stumbling over the heaving ground, his face ghostly white in the eerie light, his eyes fixed, horrified, on the rumbling castle behind her. She couldn't see what he was staring at, but it must be something horrendous.

"I'm stuck!" she gasped, as he bent and clawed at the stones around her. "I'm all tangled up with the sword. The scabbard's caught on something."

He puffed as he heaved at the heavy rocks. "What sword?"

"_You_ took one," she panted. "I thought I might as well, too. Need weapons, don't you?"

The loosened earth began to crumble around her; Taran seized her under the arms and pulled and she clutched at him, kicking furiously. All at once her prison gave way and they both toppled down a rocky slope, landing in a tangled, bruised heap. "Oof!" Eilonwy pushed herself up breathlessly and groaned. "I feel like all my bones were taken apart and put back together wrong."

He ignored this, pointing back up the slope. "Look!" Finally able to turn and see what was happening to the castle, she did so, and what she saw made her heart stand still.

The towers swayed like trees in a high wind, wreathed in blue flame. The great outer walls were splitting like firewood beneath some invisible axe, massive stones tossed into the air like chips. The noise was deafening, worse than a hundred thunderstorms all battling at once, and she covered her ears with her hands and crouched next to Taran, both of them frozen with horror, unable even to stand as the earth rippled like ocean waves around them. With a final roar that must have been heard for a hundred leagues, Spiral Castle collapsed from the very foundations. A wave of dust and smoke boiled up from its ruin, blasting both of them, and they dropped to the ground, huddled together and hiding their faces, until the air stilled.

The silence that fell was complete, broken only by their breathing as they waited, afraid to move, afraid to look. The dust settled slowly, glazing them with gritty film. Eilonwy, cramped and too warm, became suddenly aware that in the castle's last violence Taran had crouched over her, shielding her from the blast, and his arms were still curled protectively around her back. She examined the sensation in some bewilderment. She felt...well, not uncomfortable exactly, but...

She squirmed, and he released her immediately, falling back onto his heels and dropping his arms with an expression that suggested he wasn't exactly sure how they'd gotten there. He cleared his throat. "You, um...you all right?"

"You saved my life," Eilonwy murmured, astonishment sliding swiftly into guilt. She wished she hadn't called him stupid, wished she had...oh, she didn't know _what_ she wished. Taran looked embarrassed, and picked at a weed growing at his knee.

"Well, you saved mine. So we're even." He glanced up at her and grinned; the first smile she'd seen from him, first smile she'd seen from _any_one that wasn't sneering or mocking or bitter. His was the tiniest bit crooked over very straight teeth, and something in her chest gave a queer, lopsided flutter at the sight.

"Well, but..." she stammered. "I mean...thank you. That was quite courageous, running back up there when you'd already gotten out. I wouldn't have expected it of an assistant pig-keeper. It's wonderful when people surprise you that way."

His grin turned into a smirk of amused annoyance, as though he were trying to decide whether to be offended or pleased. It made her laugh.

"I meant...never mind." She looked back at the castle, reached out with that inner sense that had always linked her to it, but there was nothing but silence. Emptiness. Instead she felt the weighty presence of the sword, still clutched in both her hands. Wouldn't Achren love to get her claws on this...

_Achren_. She sucked in her breath, staring at the fallen stones. "I wonder what happened to Achren. She'll be furious, probably blame everything on me. She's always punishing me for things I haven't even thought of yet."

Taran followed her gaze grimly. "If Achren is under all that, she'll never punish anyone again. But I don't think we'd better stay to find out." He rose stiffly, brushed the dust from his clothes, and arranged the sword he'd taken from the barrow at his waist.

Eilonwy examined the sword she carried, too long to hang from her waist, and who wanted something banging into your hip all the time anyway? She slung the leather belt over her shoulder, settling the sword's weight at her back, and looked up to see Taran staring. "Why," he said, "that's the sword the king was holding."

She shrugged. "Naturally." No point in trying to explain that it had called to her. He'd only be confused. "It should be the best one, shouldn't it?" Her bauble was sitting on the ground, still alight, and she bent to retrieve it. "Now then. We're at the far side of...well, what used to be the castle. Your friend is down there among the trees, assuming he waited for you. I'd be surprise if he did, with all this going on," she added.

Taran brightened at the mention, however. "Gwydion!" he gasped, and took off toward the grove. Eilonwy, a few steps behind him, halted in confusion, her heart sinking.

_Who was Gwydion?_


	8. Aftermath

**Aftermath**

_Animals. Animals. Not to be trusted._

_Ordinary people do not understand us. They will betray you. Hurt you. _

_Your books may speak of love. Of friendship. They are weak substitutes for power, the grasping of mortals for that which they cannot have. _

She sobbed, gulped, pressed her hands over her ears, but the voice came from within. Even buried under a castle's worth of stone, Achren would haunt her, that relentless voice speaking lies.

Were they lies? She _wanted_ them to be lies. But...

Eilonwy clawed at the ground, angrily ripping up chunks of moss and throwing them as hard as she could at a nearby boulder, watching them leave dirty streaks, like blood, down the rough surface. If that...that _assistant pig-keeper_ were here wouldn't she love to smash some in his face.

It was his face she could not forget - the pain and the fury in it when he'd accused her of betraying him, shouted that she was no better than Achren. The very thought of it made her own face crumple again. He was horrible_, unspeakable_; he'd actually raised his sword against her and she would never forgive him for it, never, not even if he begged.

It was her own fault. She'd let her guard down; trusted him, even, made herself vulnerable. _Trust is a chink in your armor_, Achren whispered, from far away; she saw those white teeth and red lips in her mind and rose, growling out loud_. If you don't care, no one can hurt you_.

It must be true. Look at what had happened, how false he'd turned out to be. After all his pretending to care, protecting her as the castle was falling...she thought again of the safety of his arms at her back, and flopped onto the boulder, covering her face.

Where would she go now? The castle was gone, the two people she'd rescued didn't even know each other, and anyway she'd walk over the edge of a cliff before she'd go anywhere with that _stupid, stupid boy._

The snap of a twig made her jump, and she looked up to see him marching toward her resolutely. So, he meant to carry on with battle, did he? Very well_. That_ she could handle. All her anguish rose and reddened and turned to anger, powerful and familiar. Next to her, her bauble flared brilliantly.

"You've made me cry!" she flung at him furiously. "I _hate_ crying; my nose feels like a melting icicle. You've hurt my feelings, you stupid assistant pig-keeper, and all for something that's your own fault to begin with."

Taran halted, his demeanor changing to defensive confusion. "_My_ fault?"

"Yes, yours," she cried. "Every bit. You were the one so close-mouthed about who you wanted me to rescue, never told me his name, just kept going on about your friend in the other cell. So that's who I rescued - the man in the other cell."

"You didn't _tell_ me there was anyone else in the dungeon."

"There _wasn't_. Fflewddur Fflam or whatever he calls himself was the only one." Oooh, if she were on the ground. There was nothing on this boulder to throw at him.

"Where is my companion?" he demanded. "Where is Gwydion?"

"I don't know," she insisted. "He was _never _in the dungeon."

He fell into a moody silence and she felt her fury subsiding into dull, smoldering resentment, both at him and at this Gwydion, whoever he was. He'd caused her a lot of trouble for nothing, apparently.

Taran spoke again."What could she have done with him?" His voice had lost its accusatory tone, and she sniffed.

"I haven't any idea. She could have brought him to her chambers or locked him in a tower. There's a dozen places she could have hidden him. You could have said, 'Go rescue a man named Gwydion' and I would have found him. But no, you had to be so clever about it and keep everything to yourself..."

His shoulders slumped in defeat. "I must go back to the castle and find him. Will you show me where he might have been imprisoned?"

Eilonwy crossed her arms and jutted out her chin. "There's nothing left of the castle, and anyway I'm not sure I want to help you anymore, if all the thanks I'm to get is a lot of name-calling and meanness. That was like putting caterpillars in somebody's hair."

She turned away from him, sulking, but from the corner of her eye saw his head bow. "I am sorry," he murmured. "I accused you falsely. My shame is as deep as my sorrow."

This made her pause. She tried to remember if she'd ever admitted to being ashamed, and couldn't. Her anger fizzled out like foam in the sunshine. Perhaps she would forgive him after all. Maybe. If he continued to be properly repentant. "I should think it would be."

"You're right in refusing to help," he continued, turning away. "It is no concern of yours. I shall seek him alone."

He...what? He was supposed to stay and beg for forgiveness. Oh...blast him. Even humbled in penitence, he was maddening. "Well, you don't have to agree with me so quickly," she cried, scrambling off the boulder to follow him.

They made their way back to Fflewddur Fflam, who was waiting where they'd left him, quietly brushing down Melyngar, and she was mollified at Taran's apologetic recounting of where the mistake had come in. The older man accepted it graciously and consented to help in the search for Gwydion. While Taran turned back toward the castle ruins and left them behind with long-legged strides, Fflewddur, she noticed, measured his pace to hers.

He was _so_ nice. She was silent for a moment, feeling chagrin in her turn as she thought of her harsh words and thoughts about him. If Taran could admit to being wrong, she should be able to as well, shouldn't she? It was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation.

"Fflewddur," she began hesitantly. "I...I'm sorry I said those things to you. About abandoning Taran. Of course you knew nothing of any of it." She let her breath out in a relieved whoosh at the end. There. Not so terrible.

His glance upon her was mild. "Tut, my girl," he said gently. "I'll admit to a few minutes of confusion. But no harm done. If I really _had_ been who you'd thought I was, you'd have been absolutely right, and honorable about it, too." He rubbed his bristled chin thoughtfully. "Where'd you learn that kind of loyalty? Don't tell me that Achren-woman taught it to you. I wouldn't trust her with a pet rat."

Eilonwy laughed lightly and then screwed up her face. "I don't know exactly. Books, I suppose." She really had no idea where she'd gotten any of her notions that directly opposed Achren, who put it all up to rebellion and pig-headedness just for their own sake. Perhaps that was all it was.

"Well," said Fflewddur, "at any rate, confused as I was, saved is saved, and I owe you a great debt. When that castle came down all I could think was that you were still inside it. You've no idea how glad I was to see the two of you coming down that hill. A Fflam is optimistic! But that was quite..."

He broke off, gesturing wordlessly at the sight before them. The ruins of Spiral Castle lay silent in the moonlight, a broken, gloomy landscape of despair. Taran was climbing about precariously on the fallen stones. He called to them, and they spent many fruitless minutes trying to move the giant boulders - more than she wanted to, but he was insistent, and, seeing his grief, she had not the heart to point out how useless it was. This he acknowledged, finally, himself.

"This shall stand as Gwydion's burial mound," Taran said, gazing around at the rubble in defeat. Beside her, Fflewddur sighed and shook his head.

There was a company of dead guards lying in the rubble just within the gates, and though Fflewddur's suggestion that they arm themselves with the weapons of the fallen was a sound one, she shuddered as they neared the bodies. To be sure, one saw horrible things frequently around Spiral Castle, but she didn't usually see them so closely. As soon as Taran had handed her a small dagger that fit her hand well, she turned away from the wreckage and walked a few paces away, feeling ill.

They made their way silently down the slopes, and after a brief squabble about how far they should separate themselves from the ruins, made for the woods and found a secluded glade, distant enough to satisfy Taran. She watched Fflewddur throw himself on the ground after carefully placing his odd-shaped pouch on a root - a harp, she realized, remembering some mention of his being a bard. He was snoring in minutes.

She wished it were as easy as that for her. The grass was thick and afforded some cushion, but the cold of the ground beneath soaked up through it, relentless, and she turned restlessly. Taran had handed her a cloak from Melyngar's saddlebags, and she bunched as much of it underneath her head as she could without sacrificing its warmth. Furthermore, she was hungry; she'd not eaten since midday, and her stomach complained audibly.

Taran was standing beneath a tree nearby, on watch. He still looked sad and anxious; when he noticed her looking at him he turned away, but she did not feel anger there, only pain.

"I'm sorry about your friend," she said gently. His hunched shoulders drooped a little.

"Thank you." He was silent a moment, and then, unexpectedly, turned back around and gazed at the sky. "It's strange, you know. I only met him yesterday, but...I'd heard of Gwydion all my life. The greatest hero, the greatest _man_ in Prydain...and now he's dead because of me." His voice broke like a cracked jar on the last word; he dug his hands into his eyes.

She sat up; almost ran over to him, but he had turned his back to her again. "Don't say that," she urged. "It wasn't your fault, anymore than it was Fflewddur's. How could you have known he wasn't in the dungeon? It was a perfectly understandable mistake."

"It's not that," he said gruffly, still not looking at her. "When the cauldron-born came upon us, he fought to protect me. He knew he couldn't slay them, but if I had not been there to hinder him, he might have escaped."

She considered this. "Well. It isn't as though you brought them to you on purpose. And it doesn't seem very helpful to me to think about what _might_ have happened once it's done. I don't know what Gwydion thought, but if he was as great as you say, then I should think he'd be glad to protect you. Isn't that what heroes _do_?"

Taran made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a bitter laugh. "I suppose." He turned back toward the glade and she could see his face again, tense and drawn. "I'm not sure I know much about heroes, anymore. Gwydion was nothing like I imagined he'd be." He looked down, digging his toe in the dirt. "He was much more."

She leaned back, perched on her elbows. "Well, what _was_ he like?"

Taran shook his head. "Very rough and plain. I didn't even believe him when he told me who he was. You know, you expect royalty to be..."

She raised an eyebrow at his hesitation. "To be what?"

"To be obvious."

"I see." Her dry tone seemed to escape him.

"But he wasn't. He'd been traveling a while, and...well, you know, it showed. But I could tell after a while that he was...different. He spoke very little but everything he said _mattered_. You could tell he knew so much more, and cared about things that most people wouldn't, and..." Taran fell silent for a moment and then shrugged. "I don't know how to describe him. Maybe it was because he was not like other men. Maybe all the House of Don are like that."

Eilonwy sat up again at the name. "Wait. He was a Son of Don?"

Taran stared. "Don't you know who Gwydion is?"

She shook her head. "Achren never talked about the Sons of Don unless she was vowing revenge on all of them, and then she wasn't particular about specific ones." She knew the House of Don was the ruling family of Prydain, the people Achren called usurpers and pretenders. But the name Gwydion had meant nothing to her. He _had_ been important then; too important, indeed, for the dungeon. What _had_ Achren done with him? It could not have been anything good. She shivered.

He gave a low whistle. "I thought everyone knew who Gwydion was. It must be terrible to be ignorant."

She glared at him sharply, but that grin was back, disarming even under its veil of weary sadness, and she swallowed the retort that had sprung to her lips, feeling her face grow warm. "Very funny, Taran of Caer Dallben. It's not my fault I've lived in that beastly hole so long."

He chuckled softly. "You must be glad to see the last of it."

She was silent, dreading lest he ask where she intended to go next, but he said nothing more for a time, and then only murmured. "You'd better get some sleep. Who knows if we might have to move before morning."

True enough. She flipped to her back and gazed up at the sky. The shredded clouds were parting, leaving black windows for the stars to wink through. There were so many, brilliant as gems, twinkling as though they were laughing at some celestial joke. How lovely to be able to see them, not just to know they were swinging slowly above while you slept. How delicious to sleep in this air, smelling the damp green of the woods instead of shut in with curtains and who-knew-what roaming through your room. No one making frightening noises. Just the wind and the leaves whispering, and the small rustles of little night-creatures going about their business. And a tomorrow with no Achren in it.

_No Achren_. She took a deep, contented breath, and closed her eyes.


	9. First Light

**First Light**

She couldn't remember ever seeing the sun rise.

Her casement faced west, for one thing, and even if it hadn't, she'd never been an early riser. What with the night noises and the uneasy spirit of the castle, Eilonwy was always restless, finally succumbing to exhaustion in the wee hours and then drifting, comatose, until mid-morning, when a surly serving-woman left her breakfast unceremoniously outside her chamber and beat upon her door to wake her up. On occasion Achren had gotten her up earlier for some sort of lesson that had to be practiced in the wee hours...but those never had anything to do with the sun, or with light, for that matter.

Thus explained her surprise when she opened her eyes, found herself damp and chilled with dew but otherwise feeling marvelous, and saw the sky over the eastern ridge just barely streaked with pink and pale gold, like the inside of a seashell.

The woods were utterly still; a stillness not as the shut-in silence of the dungeon cell but something vast and high and fresh, a slow breath before the world awoke. The air pulsed sweet and green and _alive_...she shut her eyes again and breathed with it, deeply, felt the life shimmering in the earth beneath and the trees around, thousands and thousands of filaments of light throbbing and intersecting. Oh, this was lovely, this...was _wonderful;_ she'd never sleep indoors again. Well, unless it was raining. Or snowing. Or...well, not if she could help it, anyway.

Some sort of bedding would have been welcome though, she realized, as she stretched and felt several places aching from their night on the unforgiving ground. Her foot bumped into something warm and soft; she looked down, startled, and saw that that bizarre dog-like creature who had shown up in the middle of the night - Gurgi, he called himself - had curled up at her feet. She gazed at him curiously, but not without fondness, for his antics and speech had been amusing and he had clearly taken a liking to her. He had, in fact, run to her for protection from Taran, who manifestly disliked him and accused him of all sorts of treachery but had put up with him, if ungraciously, in the end. When she moved he whimpered, and one...foreleg? arm?...pawed at the air.

A movement from beneath a nearby tree caught her eye; Fflewddur was there, sitting on watch, and Gurgi's small noise had drawn his attention. When he saw she was awake he smiled good-naturedly.

"Almost morning," he whispered, pointing at the eastern sky. A single brilliant star hovered in the turquoise band above the rose-and-gold horizon.

Eilonwy sat up and yawned. "How long have you been on watch? I could have taken a turn." He shrugged as though it didn't matter, but she knew none of them could have slept very long. It had already been the middle of the night when they'd settled down in the first place. "Go and rest a bit longer," she urged him. "I'll guard for a while."

"Oh, never mind me," he protested, as she rose stiffly and shook the dead leaves out of her gown. "A Fflam is alert! And I slept like a log. Besides, I can march for days on just a few hours' sleep..."

A muffled sound, like a hammer striking metal, seemed to emanate from a tree a few feet away - the one where he'd placed his harp for the night. Fflewddur cleared his throat. "Well. Come to think of it, another hour or so would be welcome. It was quite the night, wasn't it? Sleep well?"

"Fantastically." Eilonwy grinned at him, possessed with a sudden impulse to throw her arms around him and squeeze, which she shoved down quickly in consternation. How very odd. But he was so...so... ridiculously _likeable_. She was sincerely sorry about Gwydion, particularly now that she knew who he was, but she couldn't be sorry that the mistake had saved Fflewddur.

She set her back against the same tree he'd picked, facing east across their little camp, and propped the sword from the barrow next to her. Fflewddur folded his long limbs onto the turf, balling his cloak beneath his head, and once again all was still. The light was growing slowly, silhouetting the three lumpy forms of those sleeping on the ground and a black lacing of alder trees behind them.

Eilonwy gazed at the brightening sky, all senses alert, marveling. How strange and wonderful that you could wake up in the same old dark place you'd lived in as long as memory, beginning the day the same way you'd begun hundreds of days before... and in the next dawn you were watching the light kiss the earth as though for the first time, and knowing you'd never have to go back. An exquisite shiver ran down her back at the irrevocable finality of it.

To be sure, she had no idea where she was going from here. There had been a lot of talk, last night when Gurgi arrived, about battle hosts massing, death-lords, kings with horns, and other ominous things. According to Taran, all was not well in the land, and there were urgent matters afoot...but still, particularly under those circumstances, one less evil enchantress skulking about in a castle was a good thing, wasn't it? She meant to be glad of _that_, at least, whatever else came about.

A bird twittered sleepily in the trees nearby and she held her breath, enraptured, as another answered it. The alder leaves rustled, whispering secrets. All around her hummed the life-surge of things growing and waking up, countless tiny breaths meshing in a silent morning song. Ears pricked, listening, she fancied she could almost hear the rhythm of a beating heart beneath the stillness, and presently grinned at herself; it was her own. She leaned against the embrace of the tree at her back, eyes upon the sky, and lost complete track of time.

The light grew stronger, ever so slowly, until there came a glorious moment when she could no longer look at the horizon for its brightness, and had to turn to know the sun rose, watching his golden light lay brilliance across the spaces between the trees, broken by long lavender shadows. Across the span of the forest, birds trilled into full chorus. She thought giddily that the whole world seemed to dance with joy, compelling, inviting, buoying her up until she could barely contain the impulse to dance along with it. She raised her arms in welcome to the sun, and twirled experimentally on one foot, before settling back against the tree, laughing softly at her own exuberance. Best not get too carried away. After all, she was supposed to be on watch, and if the others woke up and saw her doing that they'd think she'd gone mad.

The sleeping figures on the ground were growing more distinct in the light and she gazed at them all fondly. Fflewddur, who looked like nothing so much as a sprawling pile of patchwork, was snoring again. Gurgi had burrowed so far into a mass of dead leaves that only one furry shoulder was visible, itself so bestrewn with twigs and leaves that had she not known he was there she would have overlooked him entirely. Taran was stretched a little away from the others, lying prone with one arm thrown out and face pressed against the ground like a supplicant; a submissive posture that, somehow, twisted at her heart. He had no cover or cloak; he'd given her the only extra one in the saddlebags.

Well, she could fix _that_ anyhow. Stepping as lightly as she could, she crossed the little glade toward him, flipped the woolen cloak from her shoulders, and laid it over him gently, holding her breath lest he catch her at it. But he never moved, not even a twitch; after his last few days, she reasoned, he ought to sleep like the dead, and goodness knew he'd earned it.

She studied his sleeping form thoughtfully, contemplating the events that had transpired since the moment she'd laid eyes on him yesterday. Such a little thing, to lose her bauble down a grate...and now this. A queer fancy struck her that her bauble had bounced away on purpose, as though by design. It was silly, perhaps, but didn't seem any less believable than the idea that everything had happened purely by chance. There was a strange sort of..._deliberateness_ about the whole thing.

Well, however it had happened, here they were. Where would they go next? Where would _she_ go? The vague idea of seeking shelter among strangers still lingered in her mind, but she found herself reluctant to imagine parting company with her new companions. Perhaps it was just the familiarity forced on them by the last few hours; whatever their faults and foibles, Fflewddur and Taran were now bound to her in shared experience, and for the first time in her memory she was actually enjoying the presence of other human beings, a sensation too novel and too pleasant to give up very soon. Well, she would wait and see. They were several days from anywhere, and there would be time enough on the journey to decide where it should take her in the end.

Taran twitched, mumbled something indecipherable, and rolled onto his side. Alarmed, Eilonwy dropped into an instinctive crouch, but he did not awaken. Now she could see his face, peaceful and quiet in sleep, completely void of the anxiety and turmoil it had borne nearly every moment since they'd met. It was blank, open, full of every possibility.

She thought of that crooked grin, and wondered what he looked like when he laughed.


	10. Of Magic Swords and Unofficial Bards

**Of Magic Swords and Unofficial Bards**

Returning to her tree, Eilonwy leaned against the knobbly bark, and her shin knocked into the sword propped at her side. She looked down at it in surprise, realizing for the first time how quiet it was being. The potent presence of the previous evening was now only a brooding whisper, pooling in the back of her mind. But it still drew her eye magnetically once she'd glanced at it, and she picked it up to examine it in full daylight, sitting down cross-legged at the foot of the tree.

It was old, that much was certain; the scabbard, though polished metal, was mottled and black, etched with intricate designs. The disk-shaped pommel was set with a garnet-red jewel, around which interlaced carved hounds bit each other's tails; the long grip was ridged and the crossguard was adorned with twisting vines, studded with blue and green jewels as flowers. It was a treasure of skilled workmanship, masterfully crafted. She traced one twisting vine with a finger, following it around the crossguard to the edge of the blade, where...

_Llyr. _With a small hiss of pain she jerked her hand back and shook it. The sword had _stung_ her; not a vicious sting like a wasp's, but a warning jab, like when you'd touched a hot coal unwittingly. She stuck her fingertip in her mouth and stared searchingly at the weapon...oh. There it was. A warding glyph, smack in the middle of the scabbard at the hilt where any fool should have been able to spot it; it was lucky she'd gotten the point before trying to draw the blade, which would have been her next move.

_Well, really_, she thought in annoyance. _All that trouble to drag you from underneath the castle, and now you can't even be used? That was a dirty trick to play. _The magic in her head moved a little, amusement and satisfaction the primary impressions. She frowned at it, half-minded to bury it where she stood, or toss it up into the branches overhead, there to hang by its belt until doomsday. But no, of course not - it was much too powerful to be left lying around, so now she must be burdened with it until who knew when. Blast the thing.

There were stirrings among her companions now; it was full morning and the brightness of the light would no longer allow sleep. Gurgi sat up first, showering leaves; he yawned, showing a ring of very white, sharp teeth, and scratched one ear with a gangly hind foot before noticing her, whereupon he came bounding over, immediately energetic. "Noble lady wakes first in the brightness and lightness! She has crunchings and munchings to share with Gurgi for his breakfast?"

She giggled. "No, not yet. There's munchings in the saddlebag, but you'll have to wait for everyone. We're all hungry," she added warningly, as he instantly looked in the direction of the bags, a crafty expression flattening his ears to his head.

"Gurgi will wait," he said, slinking toward Melyngar with sly purpose. "He will wait by the bags with guardings and hoardings so that nothing happens to them, and the great fearsome warriors will be pleased."

She wasn't so sure about that, but he appeared to be controlling himself; at any rate he only sniffed eagerly at the bags, exclaiming over whatever he smelled. His noise, however, finally woke Taran, who scrambled up hastily when he noticed the creature's proximity to their food.

"Get away from there, you." He shooed Gurgi away, frowning like a thundercloud. Eilonwy could see that he had made some attempt to wipe the evidence of their underground travels from his face, but since he'd apparently used his own shirt, the effect was ghastly. Probably she didn't look much better. Hopefully they'd come upon a spring or stream soon and could all have a proper wash. But all the water in the world wouldn't wash that fretful look from his face...she sighed, thinking he'd looked better asleep, and returned her attention to the sword.

There were runes running diagonally across the scabbard, but she couldn't read them; they were oddly shaped, or even malformed - it couldn't be possible, though, for a weapon of otherwise flawless craftsmanship to have a botched inscription, could it? The shapes twisted in front of her eyes mockingly, bringing a vivid memory of the shifting trick passageways of Spiral Castle, and she scowled at the sword. _Stop it_.

A scuffling of leaves nearby caught her attention; Taran was approaching with food, but it was clear what interested him; his eyes were fixed eagerly on the weapon in her lap. Instinctively she snatched it up and held it away from him. The silly boy was sure to try to draw it, first thing.

He made an uneasy attempt at a laugh. "You needn't act as if I were going to steal it from you." Crouching next to her, he handed her a portion of their meager provisions; she tore at a strip of dried meat and watched him dubiously as he gazed at the sword. His hands fairly quivered with anticipation. "Come, let me see the blade."

"I dare not." Gripping the sword tightly under one arm, she held the scabbard under his nose and pointed to the glyph. "You see this? That's a symbol of power, and it means 'forbidden'. "

He frowned doubtfully. "How do _you_ know that?"

"Because I've seen it before, on some of Achren's things," she retorted, annoyed at his tone. "Of course, all her things are like that, but some are more forbidden than others. And this mark's the strongest of the lot." She turned the scabbard in her hands and tapped at the black metal. "There's another inscription, too, but it's in the Old Writing, and Achren never finished teaching me that." Actually she'd balked at learning it, mainly because the things Achren had made her read in it were so ugly. If she'd known it would ever actually be useful for anything else she'd have paid better attention. "I can almost make it out, but not quite, and there's nothing more irritating. It's like not finishing what you started out to say."

Fflewddur was up by now also, stretching his long limbs and looking refreshed. Attracted by their conversation, he strode over and squinted down at the sword. "Comes from a barrow, eh? I suggest getting rid of it immediately. Never had much confidence in things from barrows. You can't be sure where else they've been and who all's had them; it's a bad business to get mixed up in."

"But if it's an enchanted weapon shouldn't we keep it..." Taran began, and Eilonwy clapped her hands over her ears.

"Oh, be quiet, both of you; I can't hear myself think." She glared at the two of them in outrage. "I don't see what you're talking about, getting rid of it or not getting rid of it. It's mine, isn't it? I found it and carried it out, and almost got stuck in a dirty old tunnel because of it." Taran's hand was creeping toward the sword again and she slapped it away. "Besides, it _is_ a magic sword, and I count one person here who knows a thing about magic."

Taran scowled back at her. "And can't read the inscription. What about you, Fflewddur? Bards are supposed to understand these things."

Fflewddur smiled and bent over the sword with great ceremony. "Naturally. These inscriptions are all pretty much the same. I see this one's on the scabbard rather than the blade." He glanced over it quickly. "It says, oh, something like 'Beware My Wrath' - the usual sentiments."

Another metallic ping sounded from somewhere beyond him, and he straightened up, smile fading. Eilonwy peered in the direction of the noise and saw that he'd removed his harp from its case. It was sitting a few feet away, a lovely instrument with an elegant curve; one string had apparently just snapped and the loose end trailed in the sunlight like an airy strand of spider silk. Fflewddur cleared his throat. "Excuse me," he mumbled, and turned away with the attitude of a dog caught thieving from the kitchens. She watched him, puzzled, until an impatient movement from Taran returned her attention to the sword.

Some trick of the light or change in angle pulled at her eye and at once the nonsense characters straightened themselves. "Wait, I _can_ read it. Some of it anyway. It starts near the hilt and goes winding around like ivy; I was looking at it the wrong way." She flipped the weapon around and settled it in a more convenient orientation. "First it says _Dyrnwyn_. I don't know whether that's the name of the sword or the name of the king." She scanned the next line eagerly. "Oh, yes, it's the sword; here it is again. _Draw Dyrnwyn, only thou of royal blood, to rule, to strike the.._.something or other. I can't see it; the letters are worn smooth." She squinted, and held the scabbard closer until her nose almost touched it; it was no illusion; the characters faded again, and not from any trick of her eyes or the sword. "No, that's odd. They've been scratched out and there's only a trace left, not enough to read. This word might be 'death', how very cheerful." She shuddered distastefully, but what could you expect of a sword, after all?

"Let me unsheathe it," Taran pressed, practically bouncing on his knees. "There might be more on the blade."

Did he _ever_ listen? She cast him a look of longsuffering annoyance. "I told you I _can't_. I'm bound by this symbol - it's elementary."

"Achren cannot bind you any longer," he argued. Good Llyr, there was no angle he wasn't going to try, was there? Assistant pig-keepers were a stubborn lot.

"It isn't Achren," she huffed, patience growing thin. "I only said she had things with the same mark, but this is stronger enchantment than anything she could do." She could tell, by the gleam in his eye, that this only made him more interested, and added, "I wouldn't dare draw it myself, and I'm not about to let you do it. It says _only royal blood_ \- not a word about assistant pig-keepers."

His eyes finally left the sword and focused on her face; miffed, but at least his attention was diverted. "How can you tell I don't have royal blood? I wasn't _born_ an assistant pig-keeper. For all you know my father might have been a king. It happens all the time in _The Book of Three_."

She pressed her lips into a thin line, remembering his ignorance of her own lineage as she'd rattled it off in the dungeon. Whatever _The Book of Three_ was, reading it apparently didn't make daft boys any wiser. "I never heard of _The Book of Three_, but in the first place, it's not good enough to be a king's son, or even a king. Royal Blood is just a way of translating it; it's more than just being royal or having royal relatives - anybody can have those. It means..." She shrugged, sighing. "Oh, I don't know what you'd call it. Something very special. And I think if you have it, you don't need to wonder whether you do."

Taran sat back on his heels and crossed his arms, eyes flashing resentfully. "So of course you've made up your mind that I'm not - whatever it is."

Somewhere under his annoyance she picked up a glimmer of wounded pride, and immediately - if inexplicably - felt her own anger ebb like low tide. "I didn't mean to offend you." He looked away, brows furrowed; she bit her lip and added, "For an assistant pig-keeper, I think you're quite remarkable."

Taran snorted at this, but it was half-hearted, and she saw a flush creeping up his neck. "Really. I even...I think you may be the nicest person I've ever met in my life." His eyes darted back to her at this, glittering green, astonishment in them, and...and what had she meant to say? What was...oh yes. "It's just...I'm forbidden to let you have the sword. And that's that."

He was silent for a moment, during which she tried to make sense of her emotions and couldn't. What had possessed her to say that? Fflewddur, in fact, was nicer in many ways, but somehow, of the two of them, she felt...

"What will you do with it, then?"

Oh, Belin, could he _never _stop thinking about the wretched sword? Peeved at the interruption of her thoughts, she sniffed. "Keep it, naturally. I'm not going to drop it down a well, am I?"

His mouth twisted. "You'll make a fine sight - a little girl carrying a sword."

There it was again - and after what she'd said, too, the ungrateful twit. "I am _not_ a little girl," she growled through clenched teeth, tempted to shove him. "Among my people in the olden days, the Sword-Maidens did battle beside the men."

His chin was jutting out stubbornly. "It's not the olden days now. Instead of a sword, you should be carrying a doll."

_How dare he_...she felt the sting of his scorn for only a moment before fury bubbled up like the contents of a cauldron, scalding, pushing a wordless squeal of anger before it; without thought her hand reared to strike him...

...and stopped, caught in midair, and she found herself staring at the mild face of Fflewddur Fflam, who had grabbed her sleeve. "Here now, no squabbling." He shook his head reproachfully. "There's not a bit of use to it."

She yanked her arm from his grasp, irritation battling with an unwelcome pang of remorse at his expression. "That inscription was a very important one. It didn't say anything about bewaring anyone's wrath. You didn't read it right at all." He shifted uncomfortably, reddening when she added, "You're a fine bard, if you can't make out the writing on an enchanted sword."

Fflewddur sucked in his breath and blew it back out loudly, puffing his cheeks. He cleared his throat. "Well, you see, the truth of the matter is...I'm not an official bard."

He looked so embarrassed that she was sorry for him, and forgot her annoyance. "I didn't know there were unofficial bards."

He grinned as he pulled a large key from one of his patchwork pockets and applied it to a peg of his instrument. "Oh, yes. At least in my case. I'm also a king."

_Of course_, Eilonwy thought, remembering his courtly bow of the evening before with a flash of understanding.

Taran was gaping, and immediately fell to one knee; she almost snorted, stopping herself when Fflewddur humbly shooed him back up. She gazed at the tall man with new respect. "Where is your kingdom?"

"Ah," he said, eyes lighting, and hands spread wide, "it's a vast realm..." The harp suddenly jangled like a set of windchimes, drawing all their attention. Two more strings had snapped.

"Drat the thing," Fflewddur muttered. "As I was saying, it is actually a very _small_ kingdom in the north, very dull and dreary. So I gave it up. I've always loved barding and wandering, so that's what I decided to do."

Eilonwy cocked her head quizzically, mulling over appropriate passages from related books. "I thought bards had to study for ages. You can't just go and decide..."

"Ah, yes, well, that was one of the problems," Fflewddur sighed, plucking a few harp strings absently; soft notes like raindrops plunking into a puddle sang around them. "I studied, and did quite well in the examinations..." Another string popped, its _ping_ discordant against the golden tones, and he muffled all the strings hurriedly. "I, uh, did quite _poorly, _and the Council wouldn't admit me."

Suspicion building, she felt an urge to laugh as Fflewddur complained about the insurmountable challenge of mastering bardic lore, and, around his shoulder, caught Taran's eye unexpectedly. He looked amused, glancing at the harp and then back at her, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and she instantly forgot her irritation with him.

"Taliesin, the Chief Bard himself, presented me with this harp; said it was exactly what I needed," Fflewddur went on, "but I sometimes wonder if he was really doing me a favor. It has a lovely tone, but I have such trouble with the strings, you see."

Eilonwy covered her mouth and coughed to disguise the laugh that _would_, in spite of her efforts, burst out. "They do seem to break frequently."

"Yes, so they do." He stroked the neck of the instrument cautiously, as one might stroke a pet bird prone to biting, and cleared his throat. "It usually happens when-well, I'm an emotional sort of fellow - you may have noticed - and I do get carried away. I might...readjust the facts from time to time...purely for dramatic effect, you understand."

_Readjusting the facts_, she'd have to remember that next time Achren caught her in a bald-faced lie...except no, she'd never have to do that again. Eilonwy grinned openly at the bard. "If you'd stop readjusting the facts quite so much, perhaps you wouldn't have that trouble with the harp."

"I suppose," he owned sheepishly. "But it's hard, very hard. As a king, you get into the habit. Sometimes I think I spend more time fixing strings than playing. But, there it is. You can't have everything." He ran a fingertip along the strings again, and a cascade of sweet tones rippled out.

"Where were you journeying when Achren caught you?" Taran asked, when the last chime had faded.

"Oh," Fflewddur shrugged, gathering up his leather case and sliding the instrument gently inside, "no place in particular. That's one advantage of wandering; you're never in a hurry. You keep moving, and next thing you know, there you are. Unfortunately, in this case, it was Achren's dungeon. She didn't care for my playing." He slung the straps over his shoulders and shook his head. "That woman had no ear for music."

Eilonwy frowned, remembering a few times in her early childhood when Achren had reprimanded her for singing something, snatches of verse about swans and seals and sea foam like white horses...where had she learned it? There was never music at Spiral Castle. Strange that she had never before wondered where her meager memories of it began...


	11. Outrage

**Outrage**

Pulled from her musings by Fflewddur's gesturing to her to sit, Eilonwy realized that Taran was detailing the events that had brought him to Spiral Castle. His face was drawn, turned inward, as he described what he had witnessed of the cruelty of the enemy who was massing forces to march upon the stronghold of Caer Dathyl. This name, at least, she recognized, and it seemed he intended to go there - quite sensible. It would be just the place for her to seek refuge, come to think of it - anyone of prominence there should know her family name and heritage, and grant her sanctuary. Yes, it was a perfect destination.

She was so pleased to have her primary quandary settled that it took her a moment to realize Taran had just asked Fflewddur to "conduct this girl safely to her own people."

She was on her feet in a heartbeat. "Conducted! I shall be conducted where I please!" Taran turned to her in surprise, as though he'd actually forgotten she was there. He started to say something and she cut him off decisively. "I didn't escape from Spiral Castle just so I can be sent some other dreary place. I shall go to Caer Dathyl too."

His brow furrowed, arms crossed; that "little-girl" look was settling, infuriating, on his face. "There is risk enough without having to worry about a girl."

Her hands clutched into fists and she balled them on her hips, partially to keep herself from hitting him. "I don't like being called _'a_ girl' and _'this_ girl' as if I didn't have a name. It's like having your head put in a sack." Stepping up to him, she stabbed a finger into his chest. "If you've made your decision, I've made mine. I don't see how you're going to stop me."

He seemed, for a moment, too taken aback to retort, and she turned to Fflewddur, whose twinkling eyes were belying the gravity of his face. "If _you_ try to take me to my stupid kinsmen - and they're hardly related to me in the first place - that harp will be in pieces around your ears."

The bard's hands tightened on the harp case, but his mouth was twitching. Outraged that even he took her fury so lightly, she turned away from both of them and shouted to the trees. "And if a certain assistant pig-keeper, whose name I won't even mention, thinks otherwise, he'll be even more mistaken!"

"See here," Fflewddur began, "there's no need to-"

But she had already whirled back upon Taran, face flaming. "May I remind you of the reason you're out here in the first place instead of buried in the dungeon? How dare you suggest I couldn't-"

Taran clapped his hands upon his ears. He squinted up his eyes and shouted, "Stop, STOP!"

She did, but only because she was out of breath, and so angry that she had begun to sputter incoherently. By the gods, if she had the slightest idea in which direction Caer Dathyl lay, she'd set off on her own without either of them. "Worry about a girl", indeed...as though, after all she'd done, he expected her to be nothing but a burden. Lovely, yes, that was gratitude...she itched to hex him, and only the thought that it was what Achren would have done stopped her.

Taran was frowning at her loftily, as though at an unruly child. "Very well. You _could_ be tied up and set on Melyngar."

Her thoughts at this were hair-curling, but before she could speak them - perhaps fortunately - he raised an imperious hand. "But that will not be done. Not because of all the commotion you raised, but because I realize now it is best." He glanced at Fflewddur and back to her, with an insufferable air of authority. "There is greater strength in greater numbers. Whatever happens, there will be more chance for one of us to reach Caer Dathyl if we all stay together."

This was sensible, but hardly comforting. She sniffed, feeling betrayed by the traitorous tightness in her throat that suggested what she'd really like to do was cry. Very helpful just now, of course, just the thing to prove to them how capable she was. Confound it, the whole mess, and ungrateful disloyal assistant pig-keepers especially. She huffed loudly and turned away from them all, feigning interest in a nearby bush, and blinked hard to hold back the hot tears springing to her eyes.

Gurgi had joined the group some minutes previously; suddenly his shaggy head shoved itself under her hand and she looked down in surprise. He was looking at her quizzically, amber eyes soft under his whiskery, puckered brows, and a hint of a sympathetic smile - if such a thing was possible on such an animal-like face - brightened when she smiled back weakly at him. A shudder of joy seemed to pass through his whole body and he wiggled all over.

"Faithful Gurgi will come too!" the creature announced boldly, yet he clutched at her robe as if for support. "He will follow! Too many wicked enemies are smirking and lurking to jab him with pointy spears!"

Eilonwy saw Taran's lips tighten at this; his hard gaze fell upon Gurgi, who shrank behind her. She stepped in front of the creature protectively, scowling at the boy, daring him silently to refuse. Taran hesitated, looking at her, and seemed to resign himself. "Fine. But I warn you, nothing must hinder our task." He turned to the bard. "I do not know the lay of the land. Will you act as guide?"

Fflewddur stood, slinging his harp case around his back. "Ordinarily, you know, I'd prefer to be in charge of this type of expedition myself." He spoke mildly, but Eilonwy sensed a hint of rebuke in the words, and was grimly satisfied to see Taran flush and stammer. The bard help up a hand. "No, no, it's all right. Since you are acting for Lord Gwydion, I accept your authority as I would accept his. A Fflam is yours to command." He bowed low and rather theatrically; Taran looked embarrassed, and Eilonwy turned away with a smirk. At least there was someone there who could put the upstart in his place...and if he thought _she'd_ ever bow to him, he had another thing coming. In fact, if he even knew who she was...

"Forward, then!" Fflewddur said brightly, interrupting her thoughts. He stretched out his long limbs and bounced the balls of his feet on the turf. "And if we must give battle, so be it! Why, I've carved my way through walls of spearmen..."

A muffled but tremendous jangling of broken strings sounded from his back, and he fell silent and coughed, ears reddening. Taran, shaking his head, made off toward Melyngar, and Eilonwy watched as the bard unslung the leather case and peered inside ruefully.

She leaned toward him, amused and curious. "How many?"

He sighed. "Six."


	12. Delirium

**Delirium**

From gloom to joy to anger to terror, all in the span of less than a day, Eilonwy thought - at least, as well as she _could_ think, while doggedly slamming one foot in front of the other, trying hard to set her mind on anything but her own exhaustion.

The journey had begun unsatisfactorily and only grown worse, in her opinion. Still brittle and stinging from Taran's comments, she had angrily rebuffed his offer of a ride on Melyngar, and he had avoided speaking to her since, which ought to have suited her very well. The day was beautiful, golden with sunshine, balmy and warm, and it was impossible to sulk while she moved through the shimmering beams and dancing leaf-shadows beneath the trees, but she had carefully kept all her sprightly observations directed only at Fflewddur and Gurgi, who seemed to be sincerely cheerful. Taran had still managed to annoy her, however, by being too preoccupied to notice her lack of acknowledgement. There was nothing worse than ignoring someone who didn't realize they were being ignored. It was like spitting at a waterfall. She might as well have been invisible.

He had hung slightly back from their procession, looking nervous, and frequently glancing behind them. Before long his cry of alarm had startled them all under cover, from whence they had observed the slow, relentless approach of two cauldron-born. At once, the serenity of their march was thrown to the wind; their only hope was to outdistance the deathless warriors, and so they had broken into an endless, punishing run through the woods.

She had held up admirably for the first bit, she thought - particularly as she wasn't exactly used to so much running. It had almost been a pleasure at first, actually, or would have been had it not been their lives at stake. Achren had always forbidden running through the corridors of the castle, a rule with wisdom in it given that you never knew who or what sort of unsavory character you might collide with if you weren't careful. Eilonwy had often been driven frantic by having to sit motionless for hours of study, and frequently climbed the only two trees that grew within the courtyard walls, or scrambled over certain bits of masonry that were in enough disrepair to allow for good hand and footholds. But these brief exercises did not require very much in the way of endurance, and now, somewhere between midday and evening, with no food and only swift passes of water taken directly from the flask mid-flight, she was nearing the end of her strength.

She'd been hanging on to Melyngar's stirrup for support for the last hour, stubbornly denying her weariness, but her feet were growing heavier; it felt as though the very roots of the trees were reaching up to drag at them. Floundering, she gave up trying to distract her mind and concentrated only on picking each foot up and putting it down, on keeping her breathing deep and measured. Her heart pounded like a hammer inside her chest.

She had several moments of realizing they'd moved a short distance through spaces she couldn't remember - whether they were dark or light, thickly overgrown or clear, muddy or dry and leaf-strewn; she couldn't say; the details were completely absent, as though she'd been asleep. Presently at the end of one of these moments she came to herself and realized she was on her knees, and Taran was pulling her up by the wrist. "Come on," he urged, his voice sounding strange and distant. "It's all right; you're all right, keep going; you must."

She tried to say she knew that, and that he needn't be so commanding all the time, but nothing came out; she had no breath to speak it and no will to find it. Anyway he was pushing her forward, away from her own words, away from thought; she was outrunning her own mind; people lost their minds, didn't they, but you never heard of them just leaving them behind because they couldn't keep up. Maybe that was why...

...why the ground kept moving...

...and up close it smelled like...

...horse-sweat. It wasn't a terrible smell but it wasn't lilacs either, and why was her face pressed against it? It was like being smothered by a dirty, hairy blanket. Gods, why did the ground move, so...no, it wasn't the ground; she must be in bed, but it rolled like the waves in a storm at sea. A boat, then, and someone else sitting in it, holding her in a tight grip, someone she didn't like. And she didn't want to be there, but there was water all around and nowhere to go, so she screamed and screamed but no one came; only a bony white hand with sharp nails that covered her mouth...and...and smelled like horse-sweat. No, that couldn't be right. Achren's hands always smelled like rose-water and magic.

She opened her eyes and saw trees sideways, confused; silly trees, to grow sideways, didn't they know they'd fall over? There were strange noises all around; people breathing hard; low voices murmuring, garbled as though the speakers were underwater. Or maybe it was she who was underwater. The boat was still rolling and pitching underneath her...wait, no, she was draped over a horse, slumped forward into its golden mane. The hair tickled her nose and she tried weakly to brush it away, and only succeeded in tangling her hand in her own hair, which she stared at curiously. Her hair seemed to belong to someone else, some other hand untangling baby-fingers from brilliant red-gold strands that glittered in sunlight, and a soft voice laughing and saying _no_..._no_, _love_, _mustn'tpullmummy'shair_...

She whimpered without knowing why, and dropped the hand; it wasn't hers anyway, nothing was. The waves rocked like a cradle; no, that's right, it was a horse, a white horse, but they were one and the same, after all; Llyr's white horses capped every wave and she would just ride this one in, and perhaps eventually they'd get to land, if there were any worth getting to. Maybe they should just stay in the sea, where it was lovely and cool and dark, so beautifully dark...

Hard ground, the smell of earth, a pull at her shoulder and magic moved in her mind, an alarm. She opened one eye and saw...who was _that_? Oh, yes, that...that assistant pig-keeper, whose name she didn't know or just maybe wouldn't say, and he was trying to take her sword again. The power in it stirred restlessly at the affront and she grabbed the scabbard compulsively, muttering, "You never understand things the first time, do you? I suppose assistant pig-keepers are all alike." She wrapped her arms around the sword like a lover's embrace and the magic curled around her soothingly. "I told you before you're not to have it, and now I'll tell you the second time...or third, or fourth. I've lost count."

Before he could reply she was drifting again, in light and shadow, chasing something always just out of reach. No longer rolling like the ocean...they must have reached land after all, solid and strong; not safe, perhaps, but she held something, something that would keep them all safe...if she could just remember what it was...


	13. Conflicts Without and Within

**Conflicts Without and Within**

When Eilonwy opened her eyes again the light was the warm pink color of early morning, and Fflewddur was there, sitting beneath a nearby tree. She blinked confusedly. Hadn't they just left this scene behind? Was it a dream, bickering with Taran, running from cauldron-born, rocking in a boat...she shook her head. Some of it had to be a dream, at least, but not all, for the trees were different, and Fflewddur looked haggard - though when he saw that she was truly awake, his smile was relieved and delighted.

"Well, now." He rose, crossing to her, and offered her a hand to sit up. "You've had a time of it. How do you feel?"

"Tired," said Eilonwy. "But I don't know if it's more from the running or the riding. I'm not much used to either." She took his hand and pulled herself up, wincing with the effort; every muscle ached, even the ones she'd never noticed before.

"I can't say I'm fond of either of them, myself," said Fflewddur, sitting back down and stretching his legs out; his knees and ankles popped audibly and he grunted. "But I'm less fond of being maimed and murdered. The good news is, we've bought ourselves enough time for a short rest."

He hesitated and she raised an eyebrow at him. "And the bad?"

"Those dead things are still on our trail," he admitted, gesturing vaguely in the direction they'd come. "But, there it is. Nothing we can do but keep on. After a bit of a breather, that is." He crossed his hands over his chest and shut his eyes.

She sighed, wishing she could feel so resigned, but only becoming vexed. It wasn't fair. To escape from Spiral Castle, enjoy one glorious night of peace, and then the very next day nearly kill yourself running like a fox from a pack of hounds - tireless, unrelenting hounds, no less - this was not what freedom ought to be. A perverse, irrational wish to find someone to blame made her look around their surroundings critically. "Where's Taran?"

"He and Gurgi are off foraging," the bard answered, without stirring. "We're out of provisions - but there's your share in the saddlebags, if you're hungry. Do forgive me for not bringing it to you - the truth is, I could sleep for three days."

He looked it, she thought, pushing herself off the ground stiffly and moving toward Melyngar, who whickered at her approach. She dug into the saddlebags, ravenously hungry, and made swift work of what was left of their store...nothing like enough. Still chewing to make it last longer, she returned and sat near Fflewddur, who opened one eye to squint at her. "Feeling better?"

"A bit," she said, and grinned at him. "Probably better than you. I'm sorry I couldn't keep up." She picked up a twig and poked it listlessly into the dirt, smile fading. "I suppose I'm a hindrance after all," she said bitterly. "Just as Taran said."

"Oh, now, none of that," Fflewddur said quickly, patting her knee. "I, for one, am glad to have you with us. We'd not even be this far if not for you - as you pointed out. Don't let that boy's nonsense make you doubt it."

She made a wry face. "He's the one who doubts it. I suppose he'll never let me forget that I couldn't even last the day."

The bard was quiet for a moment; she felt his gaze on her as she continued poking at the ground. Finally he spoke gently. "Don't judge him too harshly, my dear. He's a bit foolhardy, and in far over his head, but he's a good lad. All the while you slept he never spoke a word against you. You could extend him the same courtesy."

She looked back at him, startled, face warming with shame, but he had already shut his eyes again, laying his head back peacefully on the turf. How it was that a rebuke from Fflewddur didn't make her angry?...only sorry. So, Taran had not made comment on her failure to keep up... and it had to be true, for the bard's harp strings had remained silently intact. She considered this in mild surprise. Perhaps she'd misjudged him...but hang it all, if he'd stop _changing _every time she blinked, going from being friendly and likeable one moment to insulting and infuriating the next, it would be so much easier to decide what she really thought of him.

"I'm surprised you're not out foraging, Fflewddur," she said. "Aren't you out in the wilderness half the time?"

"Well," said Fflewddur matter-of-factly, "someone had to stay with you. A Fflam is flexible! And the truth of it is I'm a lousy forager - as I was rudely reminded, when I got a bit too confident, just before they left." He jerked a thumb toward his harp meaningfully and she laughed out loud.

"It's no wonder you're so thin, then."

"The Fflams are all thin," he affirmed contentedly. "I shouldn't want to break tradition. Besides, it enhances our smashing good looks."

Oh, dear heavens, if only _certainotherpeople_ could be as uncomplicatedly adorable as he was. She was still laughing at his last comment when the bushes rattled nearby and Taran stepped through, looking pale, exhausted, and more anxious than ever; on one side he supported the gangly figure of Gurgi, who was holding one leg up awkwardly and whimpering in pain.

She sprang up in concern, forgetting, for the moment, her ambivalence. "What happened?"

"He's hurt," said the boy, handing her two bundled cloaks. He assisted Gurgi slowly, and with surprising gentleness, to the ground, where the creature curled up pathetically around his wounded leg. It was torn and bleeding. "He fell from a tree when the branch he was on broke," Taran explained, his forehead furrowed with worry. "He's going to have to ride Melyngar with you for a time. Could you take the weapons off her? Fflewddur and I will carry them." She glanced at him, hesitating, but there was no note of accusation or reproach in his voice, only weary resignation. Silently she laid the bundles on the ground and crossed to Melyngar to comply with his request.

When she came back, Taran passed her a handful of mushrooms and a small, sticky chunk of honeycomb. "It's all we found before he fell," he murmured apologetically, without looking at her.

She started to say it was better than nothing, noticed the discouraged slump of his shoulders, and changed it to a simple "thank you". His eyes flickered up, meeting her gaze swiftly, and the quiet appreciation in them struck her like a shaft to the heart. Unwillingly she felt her ire draining...oh, confound it; she couldn't detest him but neither could she like him, although...although she desperately wanted to, she realized, face warming. But the minute she let her guard down he'd be sure to say something that would spoil things all over again. Were all boys like that, or just assistant pig-keepers? Perhaps at Caer Dathyl she would meet a few more, and acquire some basis for comparison.

They set off again shortly thereafter, Eilonwy mounting Melyngar without complaint, for she was still weary, and there was no use repeating yesterday's mistakes. The others pushed Gurgi up behind her. His oddly-proportioned legs were better suited for squatting than for straddling a horse, and he had to slump against her back, arms draped around her waist, to stay upright. Taran had bound his wounded limb up in a sling, and the four hairy toes on his foot, each tipped with a blunt black claw, poked intermittently into her thigh. This was less offensive than his wet-hound odor, however, and in his distress he seemed to be shedding handfuls of hair, which kept coming off in clumps and stuck to her robe, or floated behind them in midair like mouse-colored, ungroomed pixies. Still, she could not be more than mildly put off; he was too pitifully anxious to please everyone, and kept exclaiming about the kindnesses of great lords and noble ladies, and declaring his willingness to fight with them if their enemies caught up. She patted the backs of his hands now and then comfortingly.

No one had seen a hint of the cauldron-born since early that morning, she discovered, but they were all tense now, and wary, daring not to assume they had outrun them. However, their pace was inevitably slower, and Taran and Fflewddur often stumbled. Every time it happened Eilonwy felt guiltily grateful to be riding, despite various discomforts which only grew as the day wore on. She thought of several stories she'd read, in which treks on horseback that went on for months were treated as routine, and groaned inwardly at the thought. Her hipbones ached from spanning Melyngar's broad back, and whenever they came to an open place where their pace could quicken, the mare broke into a bone-rattling trot that made her teeth knock together. Fflewddur, from the ground, gave her a few pointers on standing up in the stirrups and gripping with her knees in such moments, but between Gurgi's weight dragging at her from behind and her own lack of riding experience, it was all she could do to stay seated.

By early evening she felt nearly as spent as she had while running the day before, and when they paused midway down the slope of a hill to get their breath she threw a leg over and slid from the saddle with a groan. Gurgi, left behind, slumped forward over the place she'd been sitting, and lay still, whimpering.

She bent over nearly to the ground to stretch out her aching legs, while Taran scanned the land behind them anxiously. Surely they had managed to shake off those creatures after all this time. Even if the cauldron-born themselves did not tire, their horses would, and they had no hounds with which to scent a trail.

But the boy stiffened and beckoned to Fflewddur, pointing to a ridge less than a league away, where two figures had appeared against the sky, stiff as wooden puppets set upon their mounts. Her heart sank.

Taran scrubbed his sweaty face with the back of his sleeve. "It's no use. We must stand against them sooner or later." He turned to the bard. "Let it be now. There can be no victory against them, but if we can hold them off long enough for Gurgi and Eilonwy to escape, there is still a chance."

Eilonwy looked at him in surprise, wondering what sort of "chance" he meant. He had to know that standing against the cauldron-born meant not only defeat but death - and how far were she and Gurgi supposed to be able to get, with him wounded and she with only a hazy idea where to go from there?

Gurgi, from his perch on Melyngar, wailed in protest. "No, no! Faithful Gurgi stays with mighty lord who spared his poor tender head! Happy, grateful Gurgi will fight, too, with slashings and gashings..."

Fflewddur, who had laid his harp on the turf and tightened his swordbelt, wore a grim, grey look unlike anything she had seen upon his face until then. He cast a grimace back at Gurgi. "We appreciate your sentiments, but you're hardly up to slashing or gashing or anything at all."

The two warriors had sighted them and were moving quickly down over the edge of the ridge. Eilonwy watched; cold dread prickled at her scalp, but all at once indignation surged up, a wave of fury that seemed, somehow, to come from something outside of her, choking out fear and making her fists clench at her sides. _Enough. No more. This is not what I was freed for._

Almost before the thought could finish forming she spoke it. "I'm not going to run anymore either. I'm sick of running and having my face scratched and my robe torn, all on account of those stupid warriors." Strong magic swept over her and took shape in her mind; a white-hot flame flared there, familiar - _Dyrnwyn_, of course; it was that sword at her back, fully awake and battle-ready, and she considered it with irritation. _No use your butting in, you useless thing. _

On sudden impulse she snatched a bow and several arrows from Taran's pack, and was pelting up the hill before he could react. She heard him shouting behind her, something about deathless men who couldn't be killed, as though she didn't know, as though she hadn't been _living_ with the creatures for weeks. Well, there was more than one way to flay a prisoner, as Achren was fond of saying.

The great sword bounced around on her back as she ran, its power gathering and condensing like a mass of stormcloud, shot through with the crackling energy of lightning. No wonder Spiral Castle had felt so restless since the cauldron-born had arrived - the power that had forged this weapon was set against them with an intensity bordering on a personal, animate loathing. She had no doubt it could make short work of them, and the irony that so powerful a weapon couldn't actually be used by her or any of her companions only served to increase her ire.

At the top of the hill the land spread before her, a wide stretch of green turf spotted with grey stones, affording a clear shot at the cauldron warriors, who were closing in rapidly. She stopped at the top of a small knoll and had begun to string the bow, when Taran nearly bowled her over by seizing her around the waist from behind. Distracted by her own intent and the overwhelming force of Dyrnwyn's animosity, she had vaguely sensed he was chasing her but had not expected him to attempt to stop her by force; in outrage she struck out blindly. One foot made sharp contact with something and he yelped in pain and let her go.

"Must you always interfere with everything?" she screeched, shoving him out of the way and snatching at an arrow. She was unsure enough of what she was about to attempt without being assaulted by clueless assistant pig-keepers in the process.

Swiftly she scanned the sky, found the sun, and lined up the knocked arrow with its course. Strange words twisted and split around her tongue like threads of silver; an acrid, invisible current tore up from the earth, from the air around her and funneled into the arrow until its fletched end seared her fingers and she loosed it, holding her breath. If this didn't work, they were lost, all of them.

For a moment, a heartbeat, she rejoiced; at the apex of the arc the arrow slivered into silver streamers that ribboned through the air, thickening, branching out and lacing together into a glittering web that drifted down toward the horsemen. Beside her, Taran gasped and uttered a wordless cry of astonishment. Fflewddur, running up, breathlessly exclaimed. "Great Belin, what's that? It looks like decorations for a feast!"

A victorious smile froze on her face...something felt wrong; something _was _wrong; she knew it even before the charging horses tore through the webbing as though it were shreds of grey mist, and she dropped the remaining arrows in dismay. "It didn't work! When Achren does it, it turns into a big sticky rope." The strands were melting away into nothingness; the warriors came on, unabated. "Oh, it's all gone wrong. I tried to listen behind the door when she was practicing, but I've missed something important." In despair she turned away; the warriors would be upon them in a moment, and the sword at her back was filling her thoughts so painfully that, for a moment, she had no room for any of her own.

Taran yanked his blade out and planted his feet, shouting, "Take her away from here!" at Fflewddur, who had grabbed her arm halfheartedly, as though he knew it was no good. Under her feet the ground was rumbling with the hoofbeats of the approaching' horses; Drynwyn almost trembled with its own eagerness to destroy; its power swayed her bodily, crushingly heavy...

...and then it was gone, lifting off, leaving her light as a butterfly. Taran gave a cry of surprise, and she and Fflewddur turned to see the cauldron-born riding away, as expressionless as ever, even their horses as silent as death. "What in..." Fflewddur exclaimed. "It worked! It worked after all."

The metallic reek of magic filled her mouth and Eilonwy spat on the ground in disgust. "No. Something turned them away, but it wasn't my spell." Discouraged, she turned away. What was the use of all Achren's unpleasant lessons if she couldn't use any of them when it counted? Irritably she yanked the bowstring from its notch and gazed critically at the backs of the horsemen.

"I think I know what it was," Taran said, sliding his sword away. "They are returning to Arawn. Gwydion told me they cannot stay long from Annuvin. Their power must have been waning ever since we left Spiral Castle, and they reached the limit of their strength right here."

The warriors disappeared into the trees and Eilonwy scowled after them, personally affronted at their lack of reaction to her efforts. "I hope they don't make it back to Annuvin. I hope they fall into pieces or shrivel up like bats."

Taran shook his head. "I doubt that they will. They must know how long they can stay, and how far they can go, and still return to their master. But it doesn't matter; at least they're gone." He turned to her, face aglow and eyes gleaming golden-green in the warm light of the sinking sun. "That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Gwydion had a mesh of grass that burst into flame, but I've never known anyone who could make a spiderweb out of nothing like that."

The open, frank admiration in his gaze was startling in its intensity; nobody had ever looked at her so, least of all him; between it and the brilliance of his eyes she found herself, for a moment, without the breath to speak. Her heart fluttered like a fledgling bird and pushed a flood of heat up her neck and into her face, bringing with it a giddy sensation of euphoria, and almost unconsciously she smiled at him. "Why, Taran of Caer Dallben. I think that's the first polite thing you've said to me."

His face, already golden in the light, flushed even darker; his returned smile was sincere and eager, and so pleasant that a nervous alarm went off in her mind. _Chink in your armor._

Unwillingly, but unable to stop, she thought of his words the day before. _You should be carrying a doll. Burdened with a girl. Nothing must hinder our task. _

So, she had proven herself useful - almost - and now she was worth his attention? And here she was, blushing like a fool, ready to fall all over herself because he had noticed her. No, he hadn't even done that, had he? - just gotten his head turned by a magic trick. Barely a word to her for her own sake until then, but conjure a few solid strands of enchantment and suddenly she was "amazing". Well, see if she'd stand...or fall...for that.

"I should have known," she said, breaking away from his gaze in a huff and turning on her heel. "It's all about the spiderweb. That's all you care about; not whether I was in danger." Ignoring his awkward protest, she stalked down the slope toward Melyngar, conflicting emotions pricking at her like goads. _That wasn't quite fair to him_, a quiet, reproachful inner voice intoned. She sniffed at it crossly. _Fair _would be to ignore him until he did something astonishing, and so far he hadn't managed to do more than blunder along.

_But, _said the inner voice, _remember what Fflewddur said, how he didn't complain about your having to be carried. _"Humph," she said out loud, startling Melyngar, who pricked an ear back at her mildly. Common decency, that, and he owed it to her after all his big talk the morning before. She wasn't going to forget all that now, just thanks to a few pretty words and moon-calf eyes. Even if they _did _look striking, under those dark brows of his...she shook her head hastily, annoyed with herself. _Honestly_. Besides, last time she had let herself like him he had made her cry within minutes.

Nobody was going to make her cry anymore.


	14. Midnight Musings

**Midnight Musings**

They traveled only a little way further before making camp for the night; though the urgency of the mission had not abated, at least they were no longer running for their lives, and could settle in with a sense of relative peace. Sustained by a few handfuls of hickory nuts they found on the way, physically exhausted and emotionally spent, Eilonwy threw herself to the ground without noticing the roots and pebbles beneath, and instantly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She was awakened in the star-strewn midnight by Fflewddur shaking her gently, and rose, yawning, to take her turn at watch. The rolling hills of the landscape glowed under the full moon, and she settled against an oak trunk with a sigh of appreciation at how the watery silver light softened and muted all the rough edges of the landscape. It wrapped peace like a balm upon her spirit.

The woods had changed in their two-day course; fewer oaks and elms and more evergreens as the land rose and began to buckle upon itself. The air was cooler, and flavored with the sharp, fresh scent of pine and fir, a novelty of which she breathed deeply. She had never been in the hills before, and that seemed to be where they were headed. Caer Dathyl, she understood from Fflewddur's rough sketches, nestled upon the brink of the Eagle Mountains, and she wondered eagerly what the great fortress, mentioned in several of her books, actually looked like. Achren's insane railings against the Sons of Don had not wholly hidden her envy of their wealth and power; even without these attractions, Eilonwy could not help but be curious about anyone Achren so vehemently despised.

Well, with luck, she'd find out soon enough. Her resolve to request sanctuary there had taken firm root in her mind, and she'd begun to imagine her life there with rosy anticipation, entertaining vague images of herself -attired as befitted her rank, of course - strolling through lush gardens, riding on hunts, competing in archery tournaments, sitting at feasts while minstrels played in the background...all the scenes that appeared in tapestries and in her books. Books! Caer Dathyl housed the Halls of Lore...did you have to be a bard to gain entry to them? She'd ask Fflewddur tomorrow. Oh, wouldn't it be exquisite!

On the other hand, the Sons of Don might just pack her back to her kin...whoever they were. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Achren had made it all too clear that Eilonwy was the last remnant of Llyr, and insinuated that the relations responsible for sending her to Spiral Castle had done so out of a desire not to be bothered with her. Of course, knowing Achren, both the assertion and the implication could be outright false...but she had had no way of finding out. That would change when she got to Caer Dathyl. If anyone knew the truth of her people and her history, the Sons of Don would.

A new thought broke upon her like an incoming tide. Suppose it was all Achren's lies - suppose she still had a family; parents even; suppose she got to Caer Dathyl to find that they'd been searching for her for years, and, reunited, they'd take her off to her ancestral home by the sea. She felt her heartbeat quicken, lips part breathless, and silently mouthed the strange, alien word _mother_.

_Daughter of Angharad, daughter of Regat. _What did it even mean?

She was lost in a waking dream for a long while before the practical side of her mind poked at her, pricking at the fantasy future she'd begun to construct until it deflated. After all, if her parents, or any of her immediate family were alive, surely they would have found her. The enchantresses of Llyr had been a power to rival the Sons of Don - even Achren admitted that, with obvious disgust at their lack of interest in doing so - so there would have been rumors of them, and no power of Achren, who'd been neither unknown nor ignored, could have kept her hidden from them, had they been searching for her. She was certain of that.

No, it must be true - at least the part about her immediate family being dead. As far as the rest, who knew? But if she _did _have kin stupid enough to send her to Achren, she'd run away for good, alone if need be, before being sent back to them. If she paid attention on the way to Caer Dathyl, she ought to learn enough woodcraft and foraging skills to survive on her own in the wilderness by the time they got there. Just in case King Math turned out to be an unreasonable man, unsympathetic to the plight of homeless princesses.

Or perhaps she'd stay with Fflewddur, if he were agreeable to it. His company was so pleasant. Would a wandering bard even want company? He'd said he was glad she was with them, and his unbroken harp strings confirmed it. _Lovely man._ She smiled into the darkness, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders like an embrace. If her father _were_ alive, she'd want him to be just like Fflewddur. Strange that in all the rote memorization of her lineage, her father had never been mentioned. She did not even know his name, and it had never seemed terribly important, but she found herself wondering, now, what it was. When she tried to imagine what he might look like, a mental image of Fflewddur with bright red-gold hair was all that came to mind, and she laughed dismissively and let it go.

And Taran. Once his mission was done, he would go back to his home, she supposed - Caer Dallben, was it? Strange name, for she'd gathered, when he'd been telling his story the day before, that it was neither castle nor fortress. He had spoken of it with a longing unlike anything she had known for any place, and it made her intensely curious. What was it like? Who else lived there? He had never mentioned parents or siblings or any family at all, only names, vague and untitled. She'd rather like to see his home, but the thought of accompanying him there wasn't exactly appealing...though the thought of saying a final farewell to him wasn't, either, strangely. By all that was reasonable she should be able to send him packing with no thought but _good riddance_. _Why_ was he so confusing?

She saw again his face gilt with rosy sunset light, the emerald glint of his black-fringed eyes and the honest admiration in them. Drat him. And drat whatever made all of her warm and tingly at the memory, too.

At this inopportune moment, there was a snapping of twigs at her left, and Taran himself materialized under her tree. Eilonwy started guiltily, realizing she'd been so lost in her own thoughts she would not have noticed much of anything approaching.

"You'd better sleep," he offered. "I'll finish the watch for you."

She flushed, wondering if he'd noticed her surprise at his approach. "I'm perfectly able to do my share."

He sighed, and settled himself against a nearby oak trunk. For a few silent moments she gazed across the moonlit meadow, steadfastly determined not to ask him any of the myriad questions springing to her mind, so inward-focused that she jumped when he cleared his throat. "You know," he said falteringly, "that spiderweb..."

Oh, _Llyr_, not that. "I don't want to hear any more about it," she snapped, floundering between remorse and wounded pride.

"No, what I meant was-" his voice cracked nervously. "I really was worried about you. But the web surprised me so much I forgot to mention it." She found she was holding her breath, and let it out in a silent sigh, feeling her hunched shoulders loosen and settle like sand in the bottom of an hourglass. She looked straight ahead, too self-conscious to turn to him, and from the corner of her eye saw that he was doing the same.

"It was courageous of you to stand up against the cauldron warriors," he continued hesitantly. "I just wanted to tell you that."

Elation, irrational, bubbled up within her and she barely contained it. "It took you long enough to get around to it," she managed, and then, before she could stop herself, added, "but I imagine assistant pig-keepers tend to be slower than what you might expect. It probably comes from the type of work they do."

He turned to look at her and she took in the sardonic twist of his mouth, the quirk of his eyebrow, felt again the mix of amusement and annoyance he'd emanated back at the foot of the castle ruins, and a new thought struck her. _You're as insulting as he is. Why _had she said that?

Oh dear. "Don't misunderstand," she stammered. "I'm sure it's awfully important...only it's the sort of thing you don't often need to be quick about." Oh, blast, that wasn't what she meant at all...what _did _she mean? And was she angry with him or not?

He seemed to overlook this, however, turning his gaze back to the landscape thoughtfully. "At first I thought I would be able to reach Caer Dathyl by myself. But I see now I wouldn't have got even this far without help. It is a good destiny that brings me such brave companions."

Yes, she _was_ angry with him. "There, you've done it again. That's all you care about! Someone to help you carry spears and swords and what-all. It could be _anybody _and you'd be just as pleased. Taran of Caer Dallben, I'm not speaking to you anymore." Eilonwy flopped to the ground and yanked her cloak over her head. All he wanted was a few warriors so he could play at being war-leader. Fine. Warriors need not speak to each other of anything but the task at hand; they need not try to be friends or make up quarrels or...or care at all.

That inner voice pulled at her, whispering. _If you really didn't care, nothing he said would bother you._ She snorted. Precisely. So she wouldn't. _Didn't_.

She heard him sigh, and mutter to himself. "At home nothing ever happened. Now, everything happens, but somehow I can never seem to make it come out right."

Denying an impulse to sit up and say something comforting, Eilonwy screwed her eyes shut, grit her teeth together, and pretended to sleep.


	15. Reconciling

She must have really slept, eventually. It could not have been more than an hour before she was tearing herself, shaking and sweating, from the talons of a nightmare. Her eyes flew open to cloud-mottled moonlight, wind-tossed upon a velvety black sea of moss and brush, and she sat up, gasping for breath, straining against the strangling fabric of her cloak. The rush of moving air through the treetops roared in her ears like a million bodiless voices; her own whimpering wandered lost and wordless among them. She could remember nothing of the dream save being suspended over darkness, lost within a cavernous empty space with shadowy, writhing walls, and hearing Achren's voice speaking unintelligible words; every nuance and tone pulsed with malice.

It seemed a heart-pounding eternity before another voice intruded, rough and homely but alive and real: Taran's voice, saying her name; his hands on her shoulders, shaking her out of the clinging remnants of the dream.

She stopped struggling and stared at his wide-eyed face, materialized out of the darkness. A surge of relief and exhaustion swept over her; she burst into tears, burying her face in her cloak-swathed arms.

Taran froze for a moment, but presently she was aware of a warm arm about her shoulders and a voice muttering low, soothing words. "There now...it's all right. Just a bad dream. No one's after you. You're with friends and we're safe now. Don't cry...it makes your nose run, remember?"

This made her sob crack like an egg over an unexpected laugh, and she hiccuped and raised her face, scrubbing tears away. She tried to speak, but her voice wavered and slid, stumbling over the unstable terrain of her breath. "I...it was just...I couldn't..."

"Shh," he said again, patting her back. "It's all right. Dreams are dreams. Dallben says sometimes they mean something important, but Coll says it's usually that you shouldn't have eaten beans for dinner."

Another hysterical gasp of laughter; she muffled it in her cloak, and stayed there, sniffling, in case he had any more of those lines. "I've never eaten beans for dinner. But I have nightmares often."

"Well." She felt him shrug. "Small wonder, where you come from. Maybe they'll go away now that you're out of Spiral Castle, once you've been gone long enough to remember that in your sleep. Here," he added, shifting his arm and tugging at her cloak. "You're all tangled up. That'll give anyone nightmares. I wake up at home, sometimes, all twisted up in my blankets, dreaming I'm being swaddled to death by a giant."

"Did you just make that up?" She loosened her arms, allowing him to pull the folds of material free.

Taran shook out the cloak and settled it back around her shoulders. "No, it's true. Once I dreamed I was being chased by morgens through a pond, and couldn't run because, you know, you move so slowly in the water. And when I woke up frightened, and tried to get up, my legs were so tangled in my blanket I fell out of bed."

Eilonwy giggled, tension draining from her shoulders, and gazed out over the meadow. Taran was sitting next to her, an arm still over her shoulders in a way that somehow did not feel awkward or stiff, and she wondered how she could have ever been as angry with him as she'd been just a few hours ago. If only he could always be as agreeable as this.

"Taran," she ventured presently, ending a long silence, "what is Caer Dallben like?"

"It's quiet," he answered, after a thoughtful pause. "Before the last few days, I would have said it was too quiet. But now..." He gestured with his free hand out toward the meadow. "Now I'd like it back. I suppose I thought an adventure would be...I don't know, grander. Not sleeping on sticks and going hungry and being chased through the woods for days. I'd rather have been hoeing the turnips. But I won't tell Coll that, if I ever make it back," he added, and she knew, by the sound of his voice, the rueful grin that accompanied it.

"Is it a farm, then?" Eilonwy asked, trying to imagine it. She had never seen one. Only pictures of them in tapestries.

"It is," he said, with a note of surprise. "Haven't I told you? I suppose I haven't. Yes, it's a farm. Not very big, as it's just Coll and I to tend it. But there's vegetable plots, and an apple orchard, and spaces for the goats and oxen to graze. And chickens - usually. And Hen Wen, of course."

"Your pig," she recalled, and frowned, puzzled. "It's not Dallben's farm, then? Why is it called Caer Dallben?"

Taran scratched his head. "It's...well, it just is. Dallben is master there, but he's too old for farming. Though I don't think he did that even when he was young - if he ever was. He's an enchanter, you see...the most powerful in Prydain, Coll says."

This piqued her interest. "I wonder why Achren never mentioned him," she mused. "I thought she knew all the sorcerers and enchanters about - especially if they were a threat to her."

"I don't know about Achren," Taran snorted. "But Dallben never tells me anything, unless he's teaching me something on purpose. He never mentioned Achren, but I'm sure he knows about her."

"What sort of magic does he do?"

"None at all that I've seen. He sleeps most of the time and calls it meditating." Taran laughed again, voice cracking on the last breath. "When Hen ran away he was just about to consult her with her letter sticks - ashwood rods with runes all over them. It would have been the first bit of magic I've seen from either of them." He paused, and tossed a pebble into the bracken. "It's a pretty dull life, to be honest. Just working in the fields or around the animals all day, repairing walls and pulling weeds. In the evenings we sit mending things or carving. Coll whittles these intricate spoons he trades with the Rover camps when they come by. And Dallben reads to us, and expects me to remember every blasted word. Most days we go to bed with the sun and rise with it the next morning. Every day's the same."

She sighed. "I think it sounds marvelous." He made a sound of dubious surprise, and she shook her head. "No, really. I wonder if you know how lucky you are. Perhaps it isn't very exciting, but at least you're with people who care for you."

Silence, but not rejection. The wind whispered through the leaves restlessly. "What happened to your parents?" she asked. "You don't ever mention them."

"I don't know who they are, or what happened to them," Taran said, stretching out his long legs and digging his heels into the turf. His arm slid from her shoulders as he leaned back, and she missed its comforting presence instantly. "Coll says he doesn't know, and if Dallben does, he hasn't told me." There was bitterness in his voice, and longing; it was a note she knew the shape of, an empty space in the heart.

"I'm sorry," she said simply. "I wish I'd known mine, too."

"Do you know anything about them?" His voice was soft.

"Only my mother's name and ancestry," she sighed. "It's something, I suppose."

"I'd give a lot to know that much," he said. "But don't you still have kin left? The ones who sent you to Achren?"

Eilonwy stiffened, frowning. "I don't know. It's what she always said, but I'm less and less sure of anything she ever told me." She hugged her knees, scrunching down so the woolen folds of cloak bunched under her ears. "It must be nice, living with people you can trust. Dallben may not tell you everything, but at least you know what he does tell you is true."

Taran grunted noncommittally, but she knew, somehow, that he wouldn't argue. Some unspoken truce had fallen between them. She listened to the wind slicing through the trees, and felt a vague sense that the two of them were surrounded by whirling wilderness, safe in a sheltering circle at its center...something fragile and fleeting; but if she held out her arms, she could almost touch its edges, dabble her fingers against it as in the fluid surface of a running stream.

"I should be watching," Taran murmured presently, and she sighed, feeling the break in the circle, a release as unobtrusive and irrevocable as a bubble popping. He patted her back one last time. "Can you sleep now, do you think?"

"I think so." She scooted to a different patch of turf, feeling that the present one was sullied by the nightmare, and lay down, careful not to wrap herself too tightly in the cloak. Taran rose and returned to his position beneath a tree, fading into the shadows. Looking into the dark patch she knew him to inhabit, she took a breath.

"Taran?" Silence. Waiting. "Thank you."

There was a baffled pause, and then an embarrassed "mmph" of acknowledgement. She grinned, realizing it was the best she would get from him, shut her eyes, and drifted off trying to imagine green fields and grazing goats.

If Fflewddur, who had snored through the entire exchange, noticed the ease of tension between the two younger members of their party the next morning, he said nothing. Taran did not refer to her nightmare or its aftermath, to Eilonwy's relief. She didn't want to discuss the dream, and the following moments she wanted to hold like a treasure in a secret box, and share with no one. But the boy returned the smile she offered when she saw him in the first light, a real smile without mockery or regret, and she felt her spirit lift like a gull.

It was late when they set out, after an hour or so of foraging that netted a few more mushrooms, wild raspberries, and a large haul of watercress, the sort of meager sustenance Achren had been wont to call "peasant food". Eilonwy wondered if peasants were always as achingly hungry as they all were by this time. It made almost anything taste good, or at least unobjectionable.

She perched herself on a stone next to the small, spring-fed pond where they'd found the cress, half-listening to Fflewddur as he planned a new route and scratched maps into the dirt. Their flight from the cauldron-born had pushed them off course, but the bard was confident that they could still reach Caer Dathyl before the enemy war bands overtook them.

Eilonwy wasn't so sure. Gurgi was worse; he refused the food they offered him and slumped at the foot of a tree. His eyes were half-shut, but the slivers of amber iris that showed beneath his heavy lids were unnaturally, feverishly bright. He would have to ride Melyngar again, and the horse could not carry two and be expected to maintain speed or endurance.

She helped the bard and Taran hoist Gurgi to the saddle, but when Taran motioned to her to get up, she shook her head. "It's all right. I'll walk." He raised his eyebrows and she added, without defensiveness, "We're not running anymore. And I've had a decent rest. It'll be better for Melyngar."

Taran shrugged. "Suit yourself." He gathered up the reins to tie them to the saddle, and she noticed him wince when he stretched his wounded arm upwards. A dark line of blood trickled from beneath its bandage.

"Your arm." She reached for it, and he pulled away, glancing down scornfully at the offending limb.

"It's all right. The bandage is just loose from all the running."

"But it's bleeding again," she persisted. "It ought to be cleaned and re-bound at least."

"We don't have time," he protested. "We must keep moving."

She resisted an urge to scowl, remembering his gentleness the night before, but could not keep the tartness from her voice. "What we don't have time for is for you to fall ill. You're the leader on this mission, remember?"

Fflewddur, busy arranging their gear on Melyngar, glanced up. "She's right, my lad," he said, indicating Taran's arm with a nod. "A few moments won't hurt, and we don't need another invalid. You see yourself what can happen with an open wound." He looked meaningfully at Gurgi. "There's linen in the saddlebags, probably for just that purpose. I could do it for you, know all about the properties of herbs and roots -"

A snap from the harp at his back cut him off and he bit off the rest of his boast with a grimace. "On second thought, better let her do it. I've seen my share of battle but to be honest, the sight of blood makes me a bit green."

Taran's lips tightened in annoyance. "Very well. If you can be quick about it."

_You're welcome_, Eilonwy thought, with an inward frown, but took the linen scraps Fflewddur offered without comment, and motioned Taran over to the spring. He sat on a stone at its edge and held out his arm with the air of one much put-upon, flinching away just a trifle when she pulled the dagger from her belt to slice the knot from the old bandage.

In silence she unwrapped the grimy cloth, soaking it with the spring water where blood had crusted the layers together and peeling them apart carefully. It was a nasty business and she knew it must pain him, but he looked steadily at the running water and said nothing.

His wound was not noticeably better than the first time she'd seen it, but at least now it could be properly washed. "Here," she said, handing him a rag, wetted and wrung from the spring. "You clean it. I don't want to hurt you." He sniffed at the implication that it hurt at all, but obediently dabbed at his arm while she arranged the new bindings in her lap. At the touch of the water he paled, but made no complaint; if anything he scrubbed harder, and she saw the hollow at his cheek where he sucked at his teeth to brace himself. Sympathy and admiration mingled into a warm tangle in the pit of her stomach; she examined it curiously, and, for the first time, without suspicion.

"That'll do," he decided, and then pointed behind her at the bank of the spring. "Here, pick that." She followed his point to a group of broad-leafed plants with clusters of tiny yellow flowers, and leaned over to pluck one.

"What for?"

"Poultice," he murmured, taking it from her and crushing the flowers in his fingers. "Ninehooks is good for cuts and scrapes. Smells awful, though. Wish I had some blackroot. Or lavender." He spread the crushed herb over his wound, tapping it against the damp skin to make it stick.

Eilonwy sat back on her heels in astonishment. "How do you know all that?"

Taran looked up at her in surprise. "It's just herb-lore. Coll uses ninehooks all the time." He held out his arm for her to bandage once more, watching her flushed face curiously. "You mean you didn't?"

Eilonwy bit her lip as she wrapped his arm. "I can tell you which plants will poison you. Or eaten to summon...things...you might not really want summoned. Or what to burn in the dark of the moon to make your enemies go blind, or get boils, or see things that aren't there..." she stopped, seeing that his expression had turned wary and distasteful; he was actually pulling away from her almost imperceptibly. "It's all the herb-lore Achren had any use for," she explained hastily, "but...at least I know what to avoid."

"Hmm," Taran said, relaxing again. "Well, perhaps Coll can teach you the useful kinds too, one day. I mean," he added, reddening, "if you ever meet him."

Eilonwy, realizing she had paused with a strip of the bandage in midair, cleared her throat. "Of...of course," she stammered, and swiftly tied it off, distracted. Had he just invited her to Caer Dallben? A scant twelve hours ago she'd have scoffed at the very notion, but now...

Taran was examining his re-bandaged arm, stretching it out and then in experimentally. "That is better," he admitted. "Thank you." Another flash of that crooked, self-conscious smile...she gave up trying to find a name for the sensation it induced.

Fflewddur, coming up with Melyngar, clucked at them both. "Now, that's something more like it." His tone, Eilonwy thought, suggested he meant more than just Taran's arm, but his expression was as mild as usual. "Ready, then? Lead on, lad, and let's be off. I've a song trying to form in my head, and I compose best while I'm covering ground."


	16. Traveling

Fflewddur's method of composition turned out to be a process whereby the swing of his long strides provided the beat to which he chanted out the same lines over and over, changing a word here, a phrase there, as he searched for rhyme and meter. It was an amusing thing to listen to, particularly once Taran began to muddle him up deliberately.

"_The towers crumbling down and down and the blazing o'er the trees_," the bard sang, in an undecided tune halfway between a dirge and a march, "_the storm was raging in the heights, and the_...hm. Hmmm. Trees. Frees...sees...cheese. _The storm was raging in the heights_..."

"With a blanket full of fleas," Taran offered, in a logical continuity of tune and without missing a beat. Fflewddur repeated it twice, thoughtfully, before blinking, shaking his head, and bursting into laughter. He picked up a stray pine cone from the ground and hurled it at the boy, who took it on the shoulder and pretended to be mortally wounded. Eilonwy dissolved into uncontrollable giggles; she clung to Melyngar's stirrup and wiped tears from her eyes.

Both the boy and the bard were clearly pleased with themselves at providing so much amusement, and the game continued well into midday. Taran proved surprisingly quick-witted at foiling Fflewddur, though Eilonwy suspected, as the rhymes grew ever more ridiculous, that the wily harper was setting him up on purpose. Fflewddur, for his part, maintained a straight face and feigned great indignation at every interruption. Between the two of them they kept her laughing so much, that by afternoon any remaining trace of irritation she had felt with either had been borne away.

To be sure, it was not an easy day, which made their banter all the more welcome. They kept as brisk a pace as they could manage, spurred on by the knowledge of the enemy army's relentless advance, and their concern over Gurgi kept the mood from being truly lighthearted. Eilonwy found, during one of their brief halts, that when she rose after sitting the world spun and went black for a moment. Fflewddur noticed her groping for a nearby tree trunk, and took her arm to help her up. "It comes from not eating enough," he told her. "Just get up slowly."

"Oof," she sighed, clutching his arm as the darkness cleared. "My head feels like it's floating right off my shoulders. How long does it take for people to starve?"

"Longer than you think." He patted her back. "So long as you have water. Don't worry. We'll be at Caer Dathyl long before you start wasting away, and King Math will no doubt feast us in grand style."

Taran, listening in, brightened visibly. "What are the feasts there like? Is it like the stories, where the tables are piled with venison and roast pig and baked apples?"

Eilonwy's stomach twisted and she looked at Taran reproachfully. "How can you talk about roast pig when you don't know where Hen Wen is? Suppose she's on somebody's table this very minute."

He wrinkled his nose at her and Fflewddur laughed. "Ah, yes, royal feasts, the stuff of legend." He patted his rail-thin middle. "I've made a dent in a table or two there and I won't mind doing it again. Why once, when I was guest of honor..." There was a twang from behind him and he sighed. "That is, I've been invited to a few minor celebrations, most recently for the betrothal ceremony for the son of the Chief Bard."

They had begun walking again. "There's a ceremony for betrothal?" Taran asked, surprised and a little scornful.

"Oh, yes, when you get to that level," said Fflewddur lightly. "There's a ceremony for everything. There's nothing a court likes better than a reason to celebrate, and the common folk like to see the spectacle - particularly as there's always a lot given away - toys and tools and ribbons and such-all; and food, of course, baskets and barrels of food."

Eilonwy, busy imagining the color and sound of a royal ceremony, frowned suddenly. "Don't the people have to support the royal house? I mean...isn't it the crops and livestock they've raised themselves on the king's table?"

Fflewddur gave her a sidelong look. "In exchange for his protection and beneficence, yes."

"So in a way," she persisted, puffing a little as they made their way up a brushy hill, "they're just getting their own things _back. _Does anyone ever think they'd maybe like to skip the spectacle and just keep more of their own harvest?"

Taran looked shocked, but the bard laughed. "Don't let them hear you talk that way at court, my dear. But there, you've hit on a point." He shook his spiky yellow head. "It's one of the things that makes ruling my own kingdom so troublesome. You wouldn't believe how much it takes just to keep my own dreary little castle running, and I've only got four servants to speak of. My Chief Steward was always telling me I should have more pomp and ceremony to please the people, and a Fflam is willing! To be honest, I think look after themselves just as well without my interference. But," he added, shrugging, "people also need merriment. A good festival in a bad year does more for morale than five good years in a row. Strange, but true."

"The Sons of Don have defended Prydain for more than a hundred years," Taran pointed out. "I don't think anyone minds paying fealty to them."

"Does Caer Dallben pay them?" Eilonwy demanded, and he shrugged, shaking his head.

"I don't think so. Caer Dallben isn't part of any cantrev. Dallben doesn't need anyone's protection."

His smugness nettled her. "Then you don't know _how_ it feels to have to give up half of what you've worked for to somebody else," she retorted, and sucked her teeth thoughtfully. "I don't know. There's something not right about it, but I can't think what, exactly."

"They don't _just_ throw feasts and festivals with the surplus, you know," Fflewddur put in. "There are storehouses where things are preserved in case of famine and war, portions set aside for the needy, that sort of thing. And you'll be more than glad of a well-stocked fortress _and _a well-fed army when the Horned King and his lot arrive." They crested the hill, and before them a long, woody slope shouldered into a broad valley, at the bottom of which a silver thread slivered and looped. "Ah, there's the Ystrad. We'll be fording it in an hour."

Taran insisted on scouting ahead when they reached the plain, before they left the shelter of the trees. He was back in a few minutes, reporting a dust cloud moving on the horizon. Fflewddur brightened and clapped him on the shoulder. "We're ahead of them! Excellent. I was afraid they'd be closer, and we'd have had to wait for nightfall to cross Ystrad. We've saved half a day. If we hurry, we can be into the foothills of the Eagle Mountains before sundown."

They crept from the cover and past the sheltering arms of the hills, and presently the dust cloud Taran had seen was a sheer brown column, twisting in the air over the edge of the land like a motionless pointing finger. Eilonwy stared at it, cold fingers prickling down her spine. Taran had described what sounded like hordes of men, but she hadn't really listened at the time. The more real and present danger of the cauldron-born had eclipsed the thought of unseen foes; the Horned King's army had sounded like something from one of her books, unreal and distant. And for the last day she had thought of the journey as little more than her own escape and flight to sanctuary. It was a nasty thing, now, to recall that there was greater trouble afoot. She glanced in Taran's direction, and saw that he also often turned his face, nervous and urgent, to gaze at the sinister column.

"Does it seem to get bigger every time you look back at it?" she asked once, voice a bit unsteady. "It does to me. I don't suppose it really is, at least not that quickly. Only I don't like turning my back on it. It makes me feel crawly, like an open door behind you that anything might come out of."

Taran said nothing, but she read his agreement in his face. Fflewddur only chirruped to Melyngar with unnatural cheerfulness, and quickened the pace of his long legs.

It was near sunset when they reached the river, running broad and shallow over its gravel bed. The sight and sound of running water would have cheered her ordinarily, but now the fording of Ystrad left them cold and dripping, their spirits much dampened. No one had the heart for any more jesting. Still, as they made their way up the opposite slope, nearing the first jagged cliffs that marked the beginning of the mountains, Eilonwy breathed deep of the pine-scented air and set her feet down with renewed determination as they regained the relative safety of the woods.

They moved on until after sundown, picking their way through the darkness, until Eilonwy saw that Gurgi , who was already slumped bonelessly over the saddle, was about to slip off entirely. She grabbed at the horse's bridle and shouted for help.

The other two hastened to her and between them they caught the poor creature, lowering him gently to the ground. He was shivering, but when she lifted his head to offer him water, the scorching heat of fever burned through his matted fur.

"We shall stop here," Taran announced - a bit unnecessarily, Eilonwy thought. It was almost impossible to keep moving in the dark, even without the extra burden of a wounded companion. The air, as they climbed, had grown crisp and chilly, and she was glad when Fflewddur suggested that a fire would be both warming and cheering. There was flint and tinder in the saddlebags, and, interested in the process, Eilonwy watched as Taran coaxed a small flame into life in the lee of a group of boulders, where they hoped it would be hidden from any unfriendly eyes in the valley below.

The crackle of the flames bounced heat and light off the boulders and created a warm pocket of shelter within the stone circle. Eilonwy fed bits of bracken to the coals and watched the sparks dance upward, fancying that they were infant stars going to join their parents in the black-velvet sky. Snippets of song played in her mind, dredged up from some buried memory, and she hummed them under her breath, until Taran motioned abruptly for silence.

She scowled, started to snap at him, then froze. A thin, lonely, mournful sound rose into the night, higher than the trees, colder than frost. It rose, and rose, then fell into silence, and the hair on her arms and neck stood up like sentries at attention. Across from her, the eyes of her companions shone wide and white in the firelight.

"Wolves," Taran whispered.


	17. Riddles

It was the buzzing that woke her up.

Waking up wasn't the easiest thing to do. Not when she was so comfortable; more comfortable than she ever remembered being. Every inch of her seemed wrapped in warmth and softness - at least, until she shifted position, whereupon something prickled sharply in a hundred places and she opened her eyes with an irritated frown, and looked around to find the source of the buzzing noise.

Of course! She was lying in hay...hay that smelled like a hundred summers, like sunshine and rain and faint, dusty flowers; hay that crackled when she moved and whose cut edges poked through her thin linen robe. And there was the door of the byre, with golden light pouring in, and hundreds of bees at work in the wildflowers marching in gay procession into the meadow beyond. That explained the buzzing.

Eilonwy took a deep, appreciative breath, and closed her eyes to better feel the energy pulsing all around. Thousands of points of light danced across her mind's eye, moving in a measured, unhurried rhythm, flooding her with golden warmth, until her fingertips tingled. This strange, hidden valley was even more rich than the woods. It fairly _glowed_ with life. For a moment she fancied she could hear the grass growing...but no, you couldn't hear anything over the busy hum of so many bees.

She sat up and stretched, and noticed Fflewddur, snoring nearby in the same heap, his long limbs sprawling like a pile of sticks. Opposite them was another large mound of hay, with a black, furry ear sticking out of the top. She giggled, remembering the bard's reaction to finding a bear sleeping in the byre. The color of the light outside suggested it was nearly sunset, and it had been late in the afternoon when Medwyn had shown them into their shelter.

Medwyn. She picked up a stalk of hay and chewed on it, thinking. She had never heard of Medwyn in any of her books, nor had Achren ever mentioned such a person, or his enchanted valley - if it was enchanted. Eilonwy wasn't sure. There was _some_thing here that felt...well_, full_, somehow, and powerful, and perhaps a tiny bit familiar - but it had none of the acrid taste or smell she associated with magic. If it was enchantment, it was of an entirely different kind than she had ever experienced, and nowhere had she sensed it more strongly than about Medwyn himself. It hung around him like a mist, some force that felt tingly and breath-quickening one moment, and the next made you so drowsy and content you wanted to curl up and go to sleep where you stood.

She had felt his presence, in fact, before they had even seen him, despite the distraction of being cornered by his wolves. Perhaps it was why she had felt no fear of them. Perhaps she _ought _to have. The anxiety of her companions over the danger they posed to the wounded Gurgi should have been enough in itself to unsettle her. But the seeking thought she had sent out to them had returned to her with no hint of animosity or predatory intent; they were simply watchful, curious. From time to time, a flicker of their consciousness would brush hers, and an infinitesimal moment of being able to smell and hear _everything_ all at once would make her start and tremble with wild, sharp sensation. But she'd said nothing of this to her companions, knowing she could not describe it in any comprehensible way.

Taran and Fflewddur had been too bent upon their journey for discussion anyway. The jocular mood of the previous day had withered away to a prickly nervous tension, as their lack of progress through the rough terrain added to their worries. Even the usually ebullient bard was somber, and finally admitted that his sense of direction was failing him.

It had been Taran who suggested allowing Melyngar to lead, on the premise that the horse would find her way home by instinct, and while she hadn't found her way home exactly, she'd certainly guided themto a place they would never have found themselves.

Eilonwy rose and stretched, grateful for the absence of the gnawing hunger that had stalked them for days. When she stepped from the byre she caught her breath. The valley, under the westering sun, shone like a golden bowl, every grass blade and stone edge gilded and glowing. Beyond its edge, humps of land curved ever upwards until they reached the mountains – real mountains, like nothing she had ever seen, impossibly massive, their snow-streaked sides glowing crimson in the fiery light. The buzzing of the bees was fading, giving way to a vast silence broken only by the whisper of the hemlock leaves clustered around the cottages. The air was crisp, as cool and fresh as though she were the first to breathe it; she shut her eyes and sucked it deep into her lungs, letting it out in a long sigh of contentment. The fawn she had befriended earlier danced delicately up to her and snuffled into her out stretched hand

.A lake, like a blue jewel set in gold, glittered in the center of the valley. At the far end Taran sat at the edge; she waved at him and he raised a hand, but she could not read his expression at this distance. Between them, the large hale figure of Medwyn was strolling along the waterline, heading in her direction. His eyes were cast down toward his slow-moving feet, which gripped the grass as though they would grow roots at every step, and again she was struck with a sense of strange power that hung about him. Her inner perceptions could not find its way through it; he was too unfamiliar, barely human; his presence closer to what she'd felt from his wolves, or from Melyngar, but much, much older – as ancient and careless of time as the mountains that ringed his valley.

When he was a few paces away he looked up at her with the sharp keen gaze of a wild thing, and she realized at once that he had known she was there, and had felt her probing thoughts upon him long before his eyes had risen. She flushed, as though she'd been caught spying, but he surveyed her without ire, clasping his huge hands behind his back. "You have sight that the others do not. Tell me your name again."

She dug a toe into the turf, feeling uncharacteristically shy. "Eilonwy. Daughter of Angharad of the House of Llyr."

"Llyr," he murmured. "Llyr…oh, yes, the people of the sea." His eyes fastened on her crescent pendant. "And you are of the royal line. That explains much. But," he added, "Llyr is no more. The gulls carried word of it…many years ago, it was; more than you can have seen. "

She blinked. "Word of what?"

His eyes were settled on her, clear and bright; but they were distant and unfocused, and she had an impression that he did not see her at all but gazed into some other reality. Just when she thought he'd forgotten about her, he continued as though he had never paused. "Of a great battle between powers, and the fall of the stronghold. An evil thing. Few survivors, and the sea claimed its own back."

"Oh." The word sighed out small and forlorn, as something shrank inside her.

"Yet here you are." Medwyn squinted at her, rocking back on his heels. "That is interesting. It is a heavy legacy you bear."

"I suppose," Eilonwy murmured. "I don't know much about it. Only what Achren told me, and I don't think she told me much that was true." She stared at the lake, willing back the tears springing to her eyes, irritated at them. Hang it all. Nothing had changed. She'd _known_ her parents were dead; she'd never seen her ancestral home; what did it matter if it were destroyed? You couldn't lose what you'd never had, could you?

Medwyn frowned. "Achren?" He grunted with distaste. "That name I know as well. Is that with whom you have lived? For how long?"

"All my life," she sighed, "until a few days ago. I escaped along with Taran and Fflewddur." The fawn had shoved its head beneath her arm and she scratched the nobbly bumps between its ears.

"That also explains much," said the old man cryptically, and she looked up, sensing a cautious reaching out, the touch of his mind and spirit upon hers. Peace wrapped around her; something seemed to speak soothing sounds without words directly to her soul. She had a vision of a frightened, skittish horse, calming beneath the gentle hands of its master, the fire of anger and distrust burning away to quietness and comfort. Muted colors melted and hazed behind her eyelids; a taste like wild honey and rosewater filled her mouth and she drifted as on a warm tide, content to know nothing, to be nothing but present.

When she came to herself she was sitting on the turf at the water's edge, the fawn curled next to her with its head in her lap. Medwyn was sitting nearby on a stone. He smiled. "Do you feel better?"

Joy bubbled up; she wanted to laugh, but it seemed too intrusive. "Yes. What did you do? That was magic, but not like any I've known."

"No, I imagine not," he remarked dryly. "I do not know if your own gifting can be unraveled from what Achren has knit into it. I smell her mark on you everywhere. Yet you have kept most of yourself, and that speaks of great strength of will – which, if controlled, will serve you better than any magic."

She sighed and stretched her arms out, enjoying the healing tingle in her fingertips. "Maybe. But I wish I could do anything half so lovely as that. Come to think of it, I don't know _any_ magic that does any good for anyone. Can you teach me?"

"You do not need magic to do good, child," he answered. "But even if yours were untainted, I cannot teach you. You are Sun and Sea, fire and water; I am of the Earth. We cannot speak one another's language, as it were."

Eilonwy frowned. "Is my magic good for anything? Achren only taught me things that...that hurt. I feel as though I'm carrying a boulder, always waiting to drop it and crush someone."

"Ah, but a boulder can also be used to build a wall," Medwyn said, "or, placed well, divert a stream into a more useful course. Fire and water are powerful forces, for good or ill, and every tool does as its master wills. Achren would have sullied your will, yet you resisted. Now you must seek one who can teach you proper mastery - if, indeed, you wish to use magic at all."

This took her aback. "Why wouldn't I? I was born to be an enchantress. It's family tradition - and all I have of them, if what you say is true."

"There are those," Medwyn remarked, "who would be thankful for the freedom to make their own way." His clear eyes twinkled at her. "You, I suspect, might be one of them. Few wild birds enjoy a cage. You have escaped one of iron. Take care that you do not fly into another, though it be golden."

He spoke in riddles. Eilonwy wrinkled her nose and stared at the ground, digesting them. Why should magic be a cage? Then again, she had just called it a boulder. Bother! You couldn't be an enchantress without magic, and if she wasn't an enchantress, then who was she?

A blank future stretched before her, as wide as the ocean - too wide, directionless and terrifying. Was that what he meant by freedom? She shook her head. "I don't want a cage. But I don't want empty wilderness either."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound like the growl of a bear. "The wilderness empty? Nonsense. This, my valley, is wilderness. Would you call it empty?"

"No," she admitted, shutting her eyes to feel again the breath all around. "It's full...the fullest place I've ever been. It's the first thing I noticed."

"Because you are in its midst. Now look at the mountains, yonder," Medwyn ordered, sweeping his hand toward the peaks. "From here, they look empty - barren and cold. Yet I tell you that even on the highest rock and beneath the deepest snow, life breathes and moves and grows." He lowered his arm. "Do not fear what you cannot yet see. Observe the beasts - they know that today's trail is the one that matters, not the one ten years hence."

The fawn in her lap sighed contentedly as though it had understood him, and Eilonwy smiled and stroked the velvet muzzle. "But," she pointed out, "even the animals prepare for the winter, don't they?"

Medwyn nodded. "Yes. But they do not wonder whether it will be harsh or mild, or try to guess when the first snows will fall."

She felt a bit as though she were treading water, with a new wave coming to dunk her every time he spoke, and fell silent to concentrate on keeping her head up. The sun was disappearing over the edge of the valley; beams of light threw themselves across a violet sky, and a star appeared low on the eastern horizon. Breathing slow, she gave up trying to unravel Medwyn's riddles, and let her mind slide into the silence that lay on the valley like a quilt. Never mind the future and mountains and cages and beast trails. The present was too peaceful to think about anything else.

Wait, that was exactly what he...

Oh, never mind. She laughed aloud, and lay back on the grass to watch the moon rise.


	18. Sleepless

After another hearty meal, shared not only with Medwyn but with various four footed guests, the companions retired once more to the byre. Thanks to the afternoon's repose, Eilonwy was anything but sleepy. While Taran and Fflewddur settled into the straw, she stood in the doorway and gazed out at the night. Crickets chirped in the stillness, and the stars hung low and liquid, gazing at their reflections in the mirroring lake. The air was crisp and clear, with just enough bite to make her cross to their packs, retrieve a cloak, and wrap it around her shoulders.

When she returned she saw that Taran was also sleepless. Fflewddur, having been satisfied that the bear had departed for parts unknown, was already snoring quietly in the rear corner, but the boy was sitting up, his eyes wide open and troubled.

"You've been very glum all evening," she remarked, sitting opposite him. "You look like you're sitting in a briar. What's the matter?"

He chewed at his lower lip before answering. "Medwyn thinks Hen Wen might be dead."

"Can he know that for certain?"

Taran picked at a piece of straw, crumbling it into bits. "No. But he does think she'd come here first if she were in trouble. Since she's not here..." His head drooped.

"I'm sorry," Eilonwy sighed. "But...you aren't giving up, surely. Perhaps she was prevented from coming this far, and is hiding somewhere."

"Maybe." He shrugged. "Which will make her even harder to find. And I can't go home without her, and I can't even _think_ about looking until after we get to Caer Dathyl, if we ever do." His voice was thick, his face hidden by the fall of his long hair, and she thought he might be crying. "I just..."

He broke off, and sympathy for him welled in her breast and swelled until she thought she'd burst. It propelled her across the byre to him, where she crouched down with a hand on his arm.

"It's all right," she said gently. "You've done very well, you know. We've come far, we're all alive, and it was your idea got us here. I'd never have thought it of you when I first found you in that dungeon."

Taran made a sound somewhere between a snort and an ironic chuckle. "Thanks a lot."

She bit her lip in penance and went on. "That's not...what I mean is, it's quite a lot for an Assistant Pig Keeper to be doing. The most you've ever been called on to do, I expect. And if you're a bit overwhelmed, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

He was silent a moment, and then lifted his head, sniffing. He turned his face from her quickly, but not a liquid glimmer in his eye confirmed her suspicion. The welling sympathy turned into a twisting ache, so sharp that she nearly threw her arms round him, and was checked only by a strange shyness that made her drop her hand instead. She stared at it, lying in her lap, wondering why.

Taran cleared his throat. "I do thank you. Really. I know what you meant. And I know very well I couldn't have done any of it on my own." He sighed. "It makes me afraid. After we get to Caer Dathyl, that'll be one task done. But then I'll have another, with even less chance of success, and I'll have to do it alone."

"Whoever said that?" Eilonwy demanded. "I could come with you."

"Would you?" He whirled his head around, his face surprised and hopeful. "I thought you'd want to stay in Caer Dathyl."

Pleasant warmth bloomed in her face at his expression; it had been an impulse declaration, and she had not expected him to seize it so eagerly. "Well, I... I _have_ been planning on staying," she stammered. "But there's no hurry, is there? It's not going anywhere. Besides," she added, "I daresay Fflewddur and Gurgi would come too if you asked them. If fact, if Hen Wen is as important as you say, perhaps the Sons of Don will send out search parties. They'll owe you a boon if we get there in time."

His eyes dimmed. "Yes. If. _If_ we get there, and _if_ we're in time, and _if_ Hen is even alive."

"You can't make any of those things so by worrying about them now," she pointed out a bit tartly. Before he could answer, a sudden, earsplitting snore from Fflewddur, louder than the rest, reverberated through the byre, seeming to set the stone walls a-tremble. Eilonwy flinched, startled. So did Taran, who caught her eye and grinned. She giggled. And then they were both laughing...laughing uncontrollably, their heads close together, and all the harder for trying to muffle it.

Taran buried his face in his elbow, his shoulders shaking. She clutched at his wrist and leaned toward him to confess, in a hoarse whisper, "Do you know, he wakes me up more times dreaming I'm caught in an avalanche, or that a thunderstorm is coming up on us?"

"It's a wonder either of us sleeps at all," he whispered back. "Probably we only both do when he's on watch."

Another snore rumbled through the byre like a tumbling boulder, leaving a fresh wave of hilarity in its wake. "Belin," Eilonwy gasped, "how does he not wake himself up? Have you ever heard anything like it?"

"Coll snores," Taran said, "but not like that. We share a room and he never keeps me awake."

"What a mercy Fflewddur's usually alone then."

"Perhaps that's really why he goes wandering," he suggested. "Couldn't find a wife to put up with sleeping in the same room, and too lonesome without one, living in some old castle."

"Oh, poor man," she began, before being cut off by another snore. It took a moment to compose herself enough to add, "He's never mentioned a queen, has he? No, there can't be. No woman would put up with a man flitting all about the country and not taking her with him. I wouldn't, anyway."

Taran snorted. "I bet you wouldn't." He rose from the straw, crawled over to Fflewddur, and shoved the sleeping bard, rolling him over. Fflewddur mumbled something indecipherable, and presently fell silent, his loud snores subsiding into a softer rhythm of snuffling breath.

Eilonwy wiped her streaming eyes and lay back into a convenient mound of hay, ribs aching. Still the giggles came. She held her sides and groaned. "Ooow. I can't stop laughing. How do I stop?"

Taran resumed his nest next to her. "Think of something that makes you angry."

"I can't."

"Shall I do something to set you off, then? I'm quite good at that." His crooked grin shone in the dark.

"You aren't helping at all," she whispered fiercely, and he poked her in the ribs, provoking a loud squeal.

"Shhh!" He clapped a hand over her mouth in mock alarm. "You'll wake him up! How can you be so inconsiderate?" His other hand poked her again and she twisted away in outrage, yet still, somehow, the laughter came. Gasping for breath, she swatted at him; he grabbed her wrist and tickled her under the arm. She yelped; he shushed her again; his hands darted like adders, pinching and poking and she was laughing...helplessly, maddeningly; oh, yes, make her angry? She _was _angry, or...something, something that felt mightily like anger, and he'd better stop, or else...actually she wasn't sure she wanted him to stop, but she couldn't breathe - oh, Belin. _Enough_.

She brought her foot up, made indiscriminate contact and shoved with all the strength in her leg. He grunted and fell back, and threw an armful of straw at her. She growled, shook it off, and crawled back to her own spot, flopping onto her belly.

"Can you stop _now_?" His voice was merry in the darkness and she grinned into the hay.

"I'll stop _you_,Taran of Caer Dallben." She called him a name Achren's horsemaster had frequently applied to recalcitrant mounts and he choked on another burst of laughter.

"What a way for a young lady to talk," he exclaimed, feigning shock. "What will they say at Caer Dathyl?"

"They'll say Assistant Pig-Keepers are the most provoking creatures in existence," she grumbled, settling in and pulling the cloak over her head.

Taran chuckled. "Coll used to tickle me when I was little. It always wore me out at bedtime."

Eilonwy humphed, but after a moment peeked over an edge of her cloak. He was still sitting up, framed by shafts of glittering moonlight slanting from chinks in the wall. "Do you remember much from when you were little?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I guess so. Bits of things, you know. Coll teaching me to fish. And having snowball fights with him in winter. Once I hit Dallben right in the face with one." He ran a hand through his hair with a rueful laugh. "I remember when I was too small to climb the stone wall round the cottage, and Coll had to lift me over. I haven't thought of that in years."

He was rambling now and she held her breath, listening. "The Rover caravans come by every few years and we'd all go out to meet them; trade things and hear the news, but I always looked forward to playing with the other children. It was the only time I ever saw any, and they had such marvelous games and songs. And dances." His gaze was far away, but now snapped back to her, sparking with curiosity. "Why?"

She hesitated, unwilling to admit the truth, even to herself. "I can't remember anything." Bits of straw in front of her mouth fluttered, small and frail, in the stream of her breath. "Nothing at all, until the last few years. It's as though I didn't exist before living with Achren." One of the straw bits broke off, and fell somewhere into the tangled stalks underneath.

"Perhaps you lived with her since you were a baby," Taran offered. "Nobody remembers things that far back. I wasn't quite a year old when I came to Caer Dallben, and of course I don't remember anything before that."

"Maybe." She rolled to her back, and watched the dust motes dance in the moonlight shafts. "But I can't remember even being _little_ at Spiral Castle. I go back just a few years, maybe four or five, and then there's just..._nothing_."

"How old are you?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "If Achren did, she never told me. You?"

"Fourteen or so. I don't know my birth month, of course, but Coll says it was summer when I came home, so we mark the season," Taran said. "You're as tall as I am. You must be around the same age."

"So go back to when you were nine or ten. Can you remember things before that?" she asked. "Because I can't."

He was quiet for a while, mulling it over. "Strange, then. Why is it, do you think?"

"I haven't any idea in the world." Unhappiness made her voice rasp and she swallowed hard. "I'm not sure I want to know."

Silence. Crickets. Finally Taran spoke, a bit tentatively. "If it helps...you must have been somewhere better than Spiral Castle. I don't know, but...if you'd always been with Achren, I think you'd be more like her. Because you'd never have seen anything else, or been taught any differently."

She raised herself up on one elbow to stare at him. "Then you don't think I'm like Achren?"

The question had never even occurred to her before, yet now the whole world trembled upon the edge of his answer. She held her breath, hearing Medwyn's voice falling like dead weights in her mind. _I smell her mark on you everywhere._

Taran blinked, and looked for a moment as if he would laugh at the absurdity of the notion, but saw that she was in earnest. "I...I only saw her for a few minutes," he faltered, "but...no." His voice became suddenly very firm, dropping to its lower register. "You are nothing like her. Nothing at all."

Her breath released in a whoosh of relief, and she dropped onto her back. The warmth of the hay was soothing; the peace of the valley seeped around her like a slow-moving river. There was a long silence. After a long time she heard Taran rise and leave the byre, thought about calling after him, and decided against it. Where he was going was his own business.

She rolled to her side and curled up, burrowing deeper, thinking. Why had she offered to go with him to find that silly pig? Not that she regretted it - on the contrary, his pleasure at the idea had been astonishing and gratifying. But still, it was odd. A scant few days ago she couldn't wait to get away from him, and now here she was offering to accompany him into the wilderness indefinitely. What had come over her?

It did rather throw her plans into a mess, too. The promise Caer Dathyl offered, of a safe haven and rest, did not throw further wanderings in the wilderness into a rosy light. And once they'd found Hen Wen, Taran would no doubt want to return straight home, and where would that leave her? How would she get back to Caer Dathyl on her own?

Perhaps there was no sense in worrying about it now. You couldn't get _back _to somewhere you'd never been, and it would be difficult enough getting there the first time.

She lay in darkness for what seemed hours, unable to sleep, turning his words over and over. _You are nothing like her. Nothing._ Suppose he were lying to please her. But there, she had never known Taran to lie, least of all to please her, which he certainly wasn't in the habit of doing.

He might be mistaken.

No. Even if it wasn't true now, she'd make it so. If he believed it, so could she.


	19. Unmoored

Hands -huge, planed at angles, with tendons corded across the joints-moved in the earth, as though _part_ of the earth, molded the rich loam into miniature hills and valleys. Eilonwy watched, fascinated, as Medwyn explained the route they should take through them, barely hearing his words as her eyes were drawn to the shifting forms beneath his hands.

She found herself restless, unwilling to leave the peace of the valley; yet there was something _missing_, somehow; like a lock with no key, a feeling with no name. There was something else she wanted and it was out _there_ somewhere, or maybe it didn't exist at all, but she was driven to search for it all the same.

At any rate, they couldn't stay; their quest awaited. Medwyn hadn't said so, but she knew; they _all_ knew: they'd never find this place again. She did not even try to count the steps or find landmarks along the rocky trail as they left the valley; even her inner perception of its richness and life stopped, as suddenly as if they'd walked through a barrier, though they'd merely moved around a stony outcropping. She was startled by the suddenness of it, and glanced up at Medwyn, who had accompanied them thus far. He nodded at her almost imperceptibly before addressing them all.

"Your path now lies to the north, and here we shall part." He turned to Taran. "And you, Taran of Caer Dallben...whether you have chosen wisely, you will learn from your own heart. Perhaps we shall meet again, and you will tell me. Until then, farewell."

Light moved, there was a pulse of something massive rolling over them, and Medwyn was gone; not only from her sight but her mind, the very weight of his presence engulfed by the same force that blocked her sense of his valley. A fully recovered Gurgi, who had been fawning at his feet, yelped in surprise and put his nose to the ground where the old man had stood, turning in circles. Next to her, Taran gasped. "He's gone. How? It's like the hills swallowed him up."

She glanced at him, mildly impressed. "They did. Sort of. He's part of them. He _is _the hills."

Taran sniffed. "That doesn't make any sense."

She shrugged. "Not to you, I suppose. What did he mean, whether you have chosen wisely?"

A strange, fleeting grief passed over his face. "Just...well, nothing. I'd rather not talk about it. Only I shall miss that place. Very much. I think...I think anytime I'm afraid or sad or angry, I could think of Medwyn's valley, and feel peaceful again." He spoke dreamily, caught her eye, and flushed a little. "Sounds a bit mad, doesn't it."

His voice was gruff, embarrassed, and she looked away, smiling to herself. "It doesn't at all. It's lovely."

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi leaped back over to them and grabbed her hand, gazing up with adoring amber eyes. "The great lord speaks truth! It is a joyful place, full of good things. Gurgi feels them in his leg, oh yes, it is strong, and ready for pouncings and leapings; but they are inside him, too, warm feelings and healings, to bring out when he needs them in the dark places."

Fflewddur slung his harp around to his back and took a deep, refreshed breath. "Well," he remarked, "I'll say it, too. I feel years younger and a stone lighter after a day in that valley."

"I don't see how you could be any lighter," said Eilonwy, "after what you ate."

"What a disrespectful baggage you are," he retorted, with a grin, and patted his lean middle. "It all goes to muscle, you know; a Fflam knows moderation." He bent backward to gaze up at the jagged cliffs. "Look at those rocks. Not even a hint of what's behind them. It's rather like a dream, isn't it? I could almost believe we were never there at all. But at least, I somehow feel that if we meet any more wolves, they'll know we're friends of Medwyn."

They set out once more, hope and strength renewed, and found nothing to hinder them. The path was steep but clear, and the views spectacular. Indeed it was difficult to hurry past the scenery; every turn of the path around some new cliff face or outcropping brought fresh new prospects. Yawning open spaces opened up at their feet, across which saw-toothed peaks cut jagged white edges against a sky as deeply blue as the sea. Sparkling cataracts of snow-borne springs sang their way down the slick-shining faces of mica-flecked stone. Feathery treetops waved beneath them as the path gripped the side of a mountain, dizzyingly high. And oh, the smells...the spice of pine and fir; the earthiness of wet stone; the fresh, bracing breath of cool, dry air.

The height and exertion made them too breathless to exclaim over each new vision, but when they halted at sunset in the shelter of a cleft, Eilonwy sank onto a boulder with a rapturous sigh, and waved toward the crimson sky. The snowy peaks blazed, bathed magenta in the fiery last light.

"It's so beautiful," she breathed aloud. "I didn't know there were places like this anywhere in the world. Or at least what they were really like. You read about mountains and all, but books don't tell you how the air smells, or the way your head goes all queer and light when you look over the edge of a cliff. I wish I were a bird, to just jump off and soar. Think of how much more space you've got to move in if you could go up and down as well as left or right."

"I've often wished I could fly," Taran agreed, as he doled out dried fruit and flat bread from Medwyn's packed provisions. "But you get a better idea of what 'high' really means out here. Did you never come this way, Fflewddur, in all your wandering?"

The bard, busy repairing several harp strings, shook his head. "There are easier ways to get to Caer Dathyl if you aren't in a hurry," he explained. "And mountains, though they are indeed beautiful, are perilous all. Falling rocks, steep climbs, terrible cold." He motioned to the darkening sky. "The weather can get very nasty in the blink of an eye. If you get hurt, there's no help for days, more likely weeks, or never at all. Not the wisest choice for a bard on his own." He gazed upon their surroundings appreciatively. "Still, it's a sight to be seen if you can manage it. A Fflam is always open to inspiration! Perhaps I shall compose my next tune all about the majesty of the mountains."

Shadows were pooling like purple velvet in the hollows of the rocks. Taran, laying wood for a small fire, muttered that he couldn't see to start it. Eilonwy pulled out her bauble and cupped it in her hands; it warmed and glowed, filling their shelter with light. "There you are."

He glanced up with a half-smile, murmured thanks. She watched him strike flint upon the edge of his sword, bend to breathe upon the spark. Another skill she ought to learn, really; Achren could snap her fingers to light a candle and had promised to teach her the same but had never gotten around to it. Occasionally she'd followed instinct, obeyed the prickings in her fingertips and played with the flames in torches or in her own grate in her room, but these experiments tended not to end well. Once she had set her bed curtains on fire. She had never even wondered how anyone made fire _without _magic...but of course it must be done, all the time.

"How do you do that?" she demanded abruptly, sliding off her boulder and kneeling across from him, the infant flame between them.

His nose was nearly to the ground as he crumbled bits of dried moss over the flickering light. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

She cocked her head at him, not understanding, and he motioned toward her bauble. "That light of yours. What makes it happen?"

"Oh." She gazed at it, glowing from the narrow crevice where she'd set it. "I don't know. It's magic. When I want it to light, it does."

He was blowing steadily on the flame, interrupting his own statements with every breath. "I _realize_ it's magic. I just wondered...if you talked to it in your head...or if it just happened."

She frowned. "I never thought about it. Do you talk to your arm when you want to reach for something? Or tell your foot to take a step? Because it's just like that."

He laughed, and fed twigs to the fire, now a small thing crackling to life. The red light gleamed over the planes of his face. "It must be a handy thing. An extra bit of you that glows whenever you want. Where did it come from?"

"I've always had it," Eilonwy said, handing him larger twigs within her reach. "I don't know where it came from. Achren says my mother gave it to her to give to me. But I don't think that can be true."

"I can't imagine Achren giving you something so lovely or useful," Taran observed, and motioned toward the pile of sticks he'd gathered. "Here, no, not that one, the little papery ones next, with the bark curling off. Too much wood will choke it. Look, see? Put that one there, as though you're building a house." His hands moved deftly, balancing the twigs in a miniature structure, tiny as a pixie-dwelling within the flickering tongues of light. "It's not just the sticks that matter; it's the spaces between them. Fire has to breathe. You can't rush it." He blew on the flames again, poked at them with a longer twig. "Do you think she was telling the truth, that it was your mother's?"

"Maybe," Eilonwy murmured. "I like to think so. I often thought she wanted to take it from me, and wondered why she didn't, and the only thing I can think is that she wouldn't have been able to use it."

"Best not to question it too much," Fflewddur put in, in an uncomfortable, hesitant tone. "Magical objects are what they are. No meddling with them, that's my rule."

"Fflewddur." Eilonwy sat up and gazed at him levelly. "You have a _magical harp."_

He blinked at her over the curve of the instrument, and paused in the tightening of a string. "Well...but that's different. It's not _magic_ so much as it's..." The very string he was winding twanged as it popped; he sputtered under his breath and retrieved the loose end with a sigh. "I mean, yes, it _is _magical, but it's a plain everyday sort. And you notice I don't poke about asking _why_ it's magic or who enchanted it or where it's been. Taliesin gave it to me, and that's enough."

"Speaking of that harp," Eilonwy went on, "you've been carrying it around ever since we met you and you've never once played it. That's like telling someone you want to talk to them, and when they get ready to listen, you don't say anything."

"You'd hardly expect me to go strumming out airs while the Cauldron warriors were following us," Fflewddur protested. "Somehow I didn't think it would be appropriate. But a Fflam is always obliging, so if you really care to hear me play..." He plunked a few strings experimentally, then settled himself with the instrument cradled fondly in one arm.

A melody rippled up, gentle as summer wind; it wound its way among them like a waft of perfume. Eilonwy leaned against the boulder and shut her eyes; the music seemed to swirl through her and around her, now enveloping, now lifting her up, as engulfing as the swell of a wave before it broke onshore. A wave...there was something...something familiar...

Ocean waves, emerald green, tipped with white lace, curled further and further out until sea met sky at the edge of the world; waves whose movement and sound were the rise and fall of the breath of earth as they rushed upon the land and sank back again, clear glassy planes that intersected and swallowed one another and rippled the sand into wrinkles; waves that crashed in exhilarating fury upon unyielding black stone, exultant in their power. Bare feet splashed, running, in white-powdered sand that glistened in sunlight and glowed in moonlight and squeaked underfoot. There was a tang of salt and seaweed in the air, on her hair and tongue; the lonely, wild cry of gulls quickened blood that wanted to soar with them, away, away, out over the endless water...water that pulled and curled under and around her hands, that responded to her thoughts instantly and effortlessly, shirring and whirling into liquid shapes of dolphins and swans, seals and seadragons. There were other hands alongside, white hands and slender, directing, guiding; a lilting voice singing of moonlight and dark depths and glittering treasures far beneath the surface, the words _it's ours, my love, all of it, you are the sea and it is you._

She came to herself with a gasp when the music stopped, and found that the salt in her mouth was no dream but the taste of her own tears. Her heart throbbed with longing; but already the pictures were fading. She grasped at them desperately, trying to put them into words to remember - oh, if only she'd something to write on!

Fflewddur was sitting with his head bowed over his harp. "Well," he murmured, "that was a surprise. I had planned something a little more lively, the sort of thing my war leader always enjoys - to put us in a bold frame of mind, you understand. The truth of the matter is, I don't really know what's going to come out of it next. My fingers go along, but sometimes I think this harp plays of itself."

He slid it back into its case reverently. "Perhaps that's why Taliesin thought he was doing me a favor when he gave it to me. Because when I went up to the Council of Bards for my examination, I had an old pot one of the minstrels had left behind and I couldn't do more than plunk out a few chants. However, a Fflam never looks a gift horse in the mouth, or, in this case, I should say harp."

He looked at them expectantly, and though she didn't want to speak yet, it seemed too mean to say nothing after asking him to play.

"It was a sad tune," she faltered, sniffling, and dabbed at her eyes with her cloak. Fflewddur looked a bit dismayed, but she waved him off hastily. "No, it's all right. The odd thing about it is, you don't mind the sadness. Or I didn't. It's like feeling better after you've had a good cry. It..." she took a breath, feeling that, for once, words were inadequate. "It made me think of the sea again, though I haven't been there since I was a little girl."

Dimly she thought Taran snorted, but she was too intent on recapturing the memory to be irritated with him. "The waves break against the cliffs and churn into foam, and father out, as far as you can see, there are the white crests, the White Horses of Llyr, they call them; but they're really only waves waiting their turn to roll in. I'd...I'd forgotten." She rubbed her forehead in confusion. "I don't know how I forgot. But the music made me remember. It was like finding something you didn't know you'd lost."

"Strange," said Fflewddur slowly. "Personally, I was thinking of my own castle. It's small and drafty, but I would like to see it again; a fellow can have enough wandering, you know. It made me think I might even settle down again and try to be a respectable sort of king." He smiled at her, a wavering sad smile, and she felt, all of a sudden, a sense of shared loneliness that cut her to the heart, and scrambled across the gravel to sit next to him. He tucked a long arm around her and she nestled her head against his shoulder. He smelled like hay and mint.

Darkness had now closed about them like a heavy cloak, warded off by the combined golden glow from her bauble and Taran's fire. The boy stirred as though waking from a dream, his eyes gleaming from the dark shadows under his brows, and spoke wistfully. "Caer Dallben is closer to my heart. When I left, I never gave it too much thought. Now I think of it a great deal."

Gurgi, curled nearby, lifted his nose to the sky and whined. "Yes, yes, soon great warriors will all be back in their halls, telling their tales with laughings and chaffings." He shook his head, his amber eyes rolling until the whites showed. "Then it will be the fearful forest again for poor Gurgi, to put down his tender had in snoozings and snorings."

Taran reached out and laid a hand on the creature's hairy neck. "Gurgi," he said, "I promise to bring you to Caer Dallben, if I ever get there myself. And if you like it and Dallben agrees, you can stay there as long as you want."

Eilonwy gazed at him in surprise as Gurgi avowed his gratitude with characteristic enthusiasm. Was this really the same boy who had angrily ordered the creature away only days ago? It hardly seemed possible...but then, she herself had admitted how he had improved only this morning_, _and she'd only been half-teasing.

Gurgi's happiness pricked at her. Yes, indeed, the great warriors would go back to their halls...or farms, as the case may be...and what of her? Caer Dathyl, of course; that's what she'd decided, at least after they'd found Hen Wen and set everything to rights. But somehow the thought failed to thrill her quite as much as it had before. Almost she envied Gurgi - not so much for the possibility of a home at Caer Dallben, perhaps, but...simply for the sake of an invitation. It was one thing to decide where you would stay, and quite another for someone to offer you a home, a place where you were actually wanted.

She tried to imagine that sort of a place, and grew drowsy over visions of a king welcoming her with open arms into the gates of a gleaming castle...but somehow just before she drifted off, the castle turned to cottages and green fields, and the king's face was young and dirt-smudged and green-eyed with a crooked smile...


	20. Water Everywhere

Eilonwy awoke with a start, full of a sense of anxiety that she did not understand. But her first breath explained it; above the palpable distress of her companions and the cold, damp weight of the air, the smell gave warning: rain. Not yet, but close, and coming closer.

It was pitch dark, moon and starlight swallowed by thick cloud cover. By the faint glow of the embers of their fire she could see that Taran and Fflewddur were up, tying gear onto Melyngar. Gurgi huddled beneath the horse's legs, looking forlorn.

Eilonwy scrambled up, brushing off her skirts and adjusting Dyrnwyn's straps with chilled, stiff fingers. She was so tired of carrying the dratted thing. It had been silent since their escape from the cauldron warriors, and she wasn't sure she preferred it so or not. While the prickly vibration of its almost-sentience had been unnerving, at least it had made her feel a certain kinship, a resolve and responsibility, however begrudging; now it was so much dead weight, useless in practice but too dangerous to discard.

Fflewddur had noticed her. "Ah, good. You're awake."

"Mmph. You spoke truth about the weather, anyway," she muttered. "What should we do?"

"Stay put," said the bard. "We're just packing the gear to protect it. Leaving this shelter in the dark would be madness."

Eilonwy lit her bauble and squinted at the sky, a jagged streak of black between the underlit rock walls. "It isn't much of a shelter."

"It's all we've got," Taran said shortly, gathering up Melyngar's reins to lead her closer to a concave place in one of the cliff faces. "We're in for it anyway, but at least the wind is a bit blocked."

Following Fflewddur's direction, they huddled against the rock beneath the small overhang, with the horse's broad bulk shielding them from the elements. Overhead, the air had begun to whistle ominously, and a fine mist rode in on wayward gusts that found their way down the crevice. The close quarters provided some warmth, though the comfort of it was somewhat mitigated by the smell. In spite of his bath, Gurgi reeked of wet wolfhound as much as ever. Thank goodness the rest of them had finally gotten the chance to wash a bit, back in Medwyn's valley, although the cold splash of stream water upon her face and arms was hardly the bath she was beginning to crave.

There were chunks of rock digging into her back. Eilonwy squirmed, seeking a better position. She felt Dyrnwyn collide with something and Taran flinched next to her.

"Ouch! You and that blasted sword," he growled. "I wish you'd put it on Melyngar with the rest."

His anxiety was radiating like heat from an oven, and she knew, somewhere deep, that it was this that made him prickly, but her own discomfort overrode any attempt to be patient. "You needn't keep scolding about it," she snapped. "You're worse than a squirrel that's lost its acorns."

Taran made a choked sound of outrage, and Fflewddur snorted and coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like he was suppressing unexpected laughter. "Now, now," he admonished, composing himself, "no telling how long we'll be holed up here like mice. It won't do to snipe at each other. What we need is something to take our minds off the weather."

"Well, you're the bard," Taran retorted, a bit rudely. "What about a story?"

"Or a song," said Eilonwy. "Something you can teach us so we can all sing it."

"Ah, now, there's an idea," Fflewddur said. "Nothing like a song to pass the time and cheer you up. I can't bring out the harp in wet weather, of course, but man's first instrument was his voice, as Teirgwaedd said."

He cleared his throat, and hemmed his way through a line or two of tunes she'd never heard before making up his mind. "Here, then. This one has a chorus you can repeat after every line. Sing it after me." He sung a string of nonsense, rhythmic syllables in a tune that was sweet and vaguely melancholy. She tried it, got tongue-tied, and stopped with a frown.

"Try again," Taran ordered. "I know this one. Coll sings it when he's missing his wife." He began the line again and she joined in, this time reaching the end reasonably in tune.

A gust of wind suddenly clawed its way into their shelter, whipping cloth and hair into a frenzy and pressing them against the wall. Melyngar snorted and jerked her head; Gurgi wailed; but Fflewddur sang out above the storm.

_There is my sweetheart, down in the orchard_

Taran elbowed her by way of cue, and they sang the answering refrain of "raddle-diddle-dow"s, probably much more loudly, she thought, than anyone ever had before. It wasn't the sort of song you'd shout at the top of your voice, ordinarily, and the contrast made her want to laugh, but Fflewddur was moving on gallantly.

_Oh, how I wish I were there myself_

His singing was a rich warm sound, balanced well in pitch and tone, and she thought, as she repeated the refrain again, that eventually he might be a respectable sort of bard after all. Taran kept wavering and cracking on the higher notes she hit with ease, but he couldn't quite seem to stay in a lower register either. Nevertheless, his voice was also pleasant, or would be, once he grew into it.

They came to the end of the verse, and she thought it painted a pretty picture: barn and orchard and byre - it sounded, in fact, quite like Taran's descriptions of Caer Dallben. No wonder Coll liked it, though what was that Taran had said...missing his wife?

She understood before the end. The third verse was a melancholy sigh, the wistful plea of a lover alone and longing. She dutifully finished the last chorus, but frowned at Fflewddur when it was over. "It was lovely-sounding, but I thought the point was to cheer us up."

He laughed. "The point was to distract us. I'd say it worked well enough for that purpose." He motioned out toward the darkness, where the wind was now a gale, shrieking overhead. "Well done, sounding out over that din. But perhaps something more rousing, to fight it effectively."

He struck up another tune, this one a battle-chant unknown to them, but appropriately bracing and easy to follow. Taran, catching the beat, slapped out a rhythm with his hands against Melyngar's leather stirrup-strap. It worked its way into her spirit and she would have stomped her feet if she'd had more room; as it was she marked out a counter-rhythm, smacking her palms against her own legs and snapping her fingers.

It was magic, she thought, a different sort of magic altogether, music. They were, all three of them, doing something different, yet it was as though there was one mind behind them, running through them and becoming something new on the other side. It was exciting; enchanting; her heart quickened and she felt the smile spread across her face like a banner. The wind howled; Fflewddur whooped in defiance and she and Taran followed suit, hooting war cries into the night. Gurgi, who was bouncing on his hairy feet, yelped over them all. Melyngar only seemed unaffected; her ears were laid back slightly at all this foolishness, but she stood docile and quiet, and Eilonwy, probing, felt only a sense of baffled tolerance from the horse.

One song followed another into the darkness and the gale, Fflewddur an apparently inexhaustible supply; whatever details of bardic lore he'd had trouble memorizing, clearly songs had not been among them. The wind shrieked and tore at the mountainside, and they knew moments of fear when its long fingers raked into the cleft, but always they rallied, until there came a moment when the sky looked slightly less black. The golden light of her bauble seemed to pale somewhat and she let it dim, and they blinked at one another in surprise to find that they could still see each other's faces without it.

The wind still shrieked, and as if it had waited only for daylight, the rain came - all at once, like a sea falling from the sky, it came in a drenching torrent that their meager shelter did nothing to deflect.

With exclamations of dismay, they all huddled into their cloaks, the merriment and music forgotten. Even the thick garments could not hold up to the downpour, however; within moments, the smell of wet wool was seeping from their sodden hoods. Gurgi hunched, a ball of misery, underneath Melyngar, but it didn't seem to help him much.

The light was growing enough for them to move by. It was Taran who first pushed out from behind Melyngar and made his way over the slick rock to the edge of their shelter. He peered out for a few minutes before returning to them, water streaming from the ends of his hair into his eyes.

"I think we should keep moving," he announced, though not with much enthusiasm. "We're losing time, and there's no way to know how long this will last. We can't afford to wait it out."

Fflewddur whistled. "I don't like it. These mountain paths are treacherous enough without traipsing over them in the middle of a storm. We could get blown right off a cliff."

Eilonwy was beginning to shiver. "Shan't we have to risk it? I'd rather be wet, miserable and moving than wet and miserable waiting here. We'd stay warmer, anyway."

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi added. "Gurgi is wet with drippings and soppings either way. He would rather be running down the mountain! Perhaps, lower down, there will be less fierce blowings and bitings from the wind."

"I see I'm outnumbered." The bard shook his head. "A Fflam is willing! Let us be off then."

It did not take long to regret the decision. Outside the cleft, the wind battered them to and fro against the mountainside, and within a league or two the path disappeared, leaving them stranded to make their own way over stony ground, treacherously slick.

They pressed on doggedly, having no other choice, and finally the rain eased and stopped. Eilonwy yanked her hood off, pulling the sodden mass of her hair out from beneath her cloak. She hated having wet hair, hated the cold cling of it against her neck and down her back; it was such a tangled mess after all their traveling that she couldn't even tie it up properly - not that it would do any good in this downpour. By the time they got to Caer Dathyl she'd be lucky if she didn't have to chop off the lot.

The labor of movement did indeed warm her, except for her freezing hands and feet. Every step squished icy rainwater inside her sandals and between her toes. Had Medwyn called her fire and water? She didn't want to be water, not now, not _this_; she never wanted to see water again. If she truly had any power over it she'd make it all disappear. Why in all her years of training had Achren never seen fit to teach her anything useful?

They moved on, too downhearted to speak, picking their way across ridges that ringed a valley, where a dark lake reflected the moody sky. Finally Taran halted and pointed to the hills at the other side. "According to what Medwyn told us we should make for that notch, way over there. But I see no purpose in following the mountains when we could cut almost straight across. The lake shore is flat, at least, while here it's getting impossible to climb."

Fflewddur gazed across the valley and rubbed his nose. "Even counting the time it would take to go down and come up again, I think we should save several hours. Yes, I definitely believe it's worth trying."

Eilonwy looked doubtfully at the lake. There was something prickling at the edge of her mind, like a whisper in a dark room. The valley felt wrong; lopsided, somehow; when she gazed too long at the water its edges blurred and bled before her eyes. "Medwyn didn't say anything about crossing valleys."

Taran looked annoyed. "He didn't say anything about cliffs like these, either. I'm sure they seem nothing to him. But to us it's something else again."

The _wrongness_ of it, and her inability to explain it, made her anxious and cross. She frowned at him. "If you don't listen to what somebody tells you, it's like sticking your fingers in your ears and jumping down a well. For an Assistant Pig-Keeper who's done very little traveling, you suddenly know all about it."

His face settled into the hard, sullen lines she remembered from days previous. "Who found the way out of the barrow? It's decided. We cross the valley."

Outrage at his convenient lapse of memory about who'd gotten them as far as the barrow in the first place made her so speechless she could not retort...or at least, not until he had already turned and led Melyngar several yards down the hillside, by which time it was too late. Eilonwy scrambled down after him, fuming. She glared at the back of his head, wishing she could bore holes in it with her eyes.

She'd hoped, after all that had happened; she'd thought...

Well, never mind what she'd thought. Pig-Keepers! Pig-Headed, more like. Assistant Pig-Headed Nobodies who thought a few weeks in the woods made them experts at everything. Let him go where he wanted; right into that horrid black lake with its flat, shivery water. _She _wouldn't stop him; he wouldn't listen anyway, just call her a silly little girl and plough right ahead. Probably it was full of morgens that would pull him under and drown him. Good riddance.

By the time they reached the water's edge she was in a fine temper, and the realization that the steepness of the hills meant they'd have to wade into the lake itself did nothing to calm her. She glared at the water; it was dark and strangely viscous, an alien substance with which she felt no affinity whatsoever. Her distaste for the rain an hour ago was as nothing compared to the revulsion that washed over her now, but her companions were already splashing through the shallows, and in a moment she'd be left behind. She thought about calling to them, wondered what she'd say that would make any sense to them, but Taran was already nearly out of earshot and Fflewddur would be soon. Wavering between two evils, she gave it up, and plunged into the ankle-deep water.

And knew, instantly, that it was the worst thing they could have done.


	21. Washed Up

**Washed Up**

The moment the water touched her skin, she felt it - magic so strong it engulfed her in a tight tangle of invisible threads. It pulled inexorably toward the center of the lake, and in moments she was floundering, fighting against it, in water hip-deep.

She tried to shout, to warn the others, but the spell filled her throat in a thick formless mass that blocked sound. She shut her eyes and reached out with her mind; perhaps magic could be fought with magic - but it was no good; whatever had cast this spell was something foreign to everything she knew. Beyond even the strangeness of Medwyn's power, this was something even older and stronger, as ageless as earth, water and fire themselves; it sucked in her efforts to push against it as a river swallows the trickle of a mountain streamlet. Nameless smells and tastes filled her senses; sharper than iron, wilder than honeysuckle, colder than frost.

Buffeted, dragged underwater, she wondered if it were any use to hold her breath. Somewhere nearby she heard the gurgling shout of one of her companions, a panicked last gasp. Then there was only the whirling water, the jangling chorus of magic, a great crash..and then nothing.

She came to herself, with some surprise at doing so, but without any sense of how much time had passed. Blinking in semi-darkness, she lay still, cautious, and felt about within an arm's length. Stone...smooth and wet; there was a sound of running water nearby; a pale blue light, cold and vague, shone from somewhere above. There were seams in the floor, and it tingled with the same vibration of the magic she'd felt in the lake.

The dim light did little to illuminate her surroundings. Automatically she reached for the pocket in her skirts where she kept her bauble and found it empty. She fought down a rising sense of panic. _Don't be an idiot._ Losing her head wouldn't do any good._ Think._

Very well. She was underground; that much was certain, and she was accustomed enough to that. She appeared to be in one piece, if bruised and, of course, wet. Where were her companions? She could neither see nor hear anyone, but shutting her eyes and thinking hard at her surroundings revealed...much. Much that was strange and terrifying.

There was..._something_ here, but if it were life or intelligence, it was alien to her. If her companions were anywhere nearby, the familiar feel of their presence was swallowed in the confusing tangle of sensation now crowding upon her. Neither human nor animal, it was something entirely different, but the smell and taste of it made her think it was what stones would feel like, if they had any feelings to detect. And all surrounded and infused with that same ancient magic she'd felt in the lake.

Whatever it was had created that enchanted lake and sustained it; of that she was certain, but what was not clear was whether it was now any danger to her or not. She sat still, wondering what to do, as the hairs prickled at the back of her neck. It was a horrible feeling to be so alone and yet _not_ alone. She sucked in her breath. Suppose it was ghosts. Or...or something even worse. Horror stories of the dark things that lived underground, some of them Achren's tales and some gleaned from books, piled into her mind, jostling for precedence. She pressed her knuckles against her teeth and fought back a whimper with effort. _Stop it. Stop!_

As if in answer to her silent command, there was a sudden noise - the jangling of harp strings. Fflewddur, then, oh, thank the fates! Swallowing a gasp of relief, she picked herself up and crept toward the sound, only to stop short when the bard's voice came from somewhere in the other direction. "Hello! Who's that?"

If Fflewddur was _there_...then who...or _what_...was she crawling toward? She froze in horror, listening intently, casting all her senses toward the source of the noise, but the magic blocked her as effectively as a blindfold. Crouching against the stone floor, heart pounding, she waited, tense as a bowstring. Pebbles rattled nearby, there was a scuffle; then she shrieked as something large knocked into her. Whatever it was fell with a familiar grunt to the wet slate.

_Taran_. Relief washed over her in a rush of alarming warmth, replaced instantly by icy fury. This was _all his fault._ "You've done very well, Taran of Caer Dallben, with all your shortcuts," she hissed.

"Eilonwy?" His voice was relieved, his figure a solid and reassuring presence next to her as he scrambled to his knees. "Oh, thank goodness. I saw you go under and I thought..." He stammered to a stop and she fought down a traitorous impulse to comfort him, maintaining stony silence even when his hand, reaching in the darkness, found her arm and squeezed it companionably. "Well, anyhow, I'm glad you're all right," he said, and paused, uncertain. "You are, aren't you?"

She sniffed. "No thanks to you. I'm soaked to the skin and I can't find my bauble." He sighed, a voiceless exhale of resignation. The hand on her arm disappeared, and she found, with profound irritation, that she missed it.

There was another haloo from Fflewddur somewhere above them, and Taran yelled back to give him a target. Eilonwy, groping about the stone floor, bumped into something smooth and round, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, here it is. All wet, of course. And who knows what's happened to the rest of us?"

The light flared, but it seemed dimmer than usual, as though the rays had to physically push against the darkness around them. Taran's face was before her, dripping, wet hair plastered to his head. He was clutching Fflewddur's harp, and looking shamefaced. He started to say something, but the voice of Gurgi intervened. "Oh, poor tender head is filled with sloshings and washings!"

The creature tumbled toward them from the shadows, stopped a few paces away, crouched, and shook himself all over, sending a fine splatter of musty-smelling water in every direction. Eilonwy recoiled instinctively - though, really, she thought, they couldn't get any wetter.

Aided by the light, Fflewddur was picking his way down a stone embankment toward them, Melyngar following tentatively on the slick rock. "You're all safe!" he exclaimed, gripping each by the hand to pull them up. Taran held up the harp and the bard took it with a grateful sigh. "Ah, I thought I heard it down here. I couldn't believe it at first - never expected to see it again. But a Fflam never despairs! Quite a stroke of luck, though."

"I never thought I'd see anything again," Taran said, wringing water out of his cloak. "We've been washed into a cave of some kind, but it's not a natural one." He pointed to the ground. "Look at these flagstones."

Eilonwy glanced down, the sight confirming what she had felt in the darkness - the floor was carefully crafted, in orderly hexagonal slate tiles perfectly lined up and matched. She frowned, raising her bauble higher, trying to see the edges, the walls, anything - but it was no use. The shadows beyond the ring of light were thick and impenetrable, as though the darkness were a solid thing. She shuddered as she peered into them, unable to shake the sensation that they were full of watchful eyes.

Melyngar was pawing at the floor in agitation; though too well-trained to bolt, she was clearly anxious, her ears pricking this way and that and her dark eyes searching. Eilonwy crossed to her, and Melyngar pushed her soft nose into the girl's chest and whickered. Her back was bare of saddle and all their parcels. Wonderful. Yet another blow. "If you'd look at Melyngar you'd see all our provisions are gone. All our weapons, too, thanks to your precious short cut!"

The others looked her way; Taran's face fell. "I'm sorry. I admit we are here through my fault. I should not have followed this path, but what's done is done. I led us here, and I'll find a way out."

He was so humble it irritated her, she wanted him to snap back, argue, have a good row - anything to drown out the creeping sensation of that strange magic all around them, buzzing like a swarm of flies just outside her range of hearing.

She barely heard Taran's next words, or had time to respond to the way they were sheared short; she screamed as suddenly the shadows took on physical form - several of them, in fact - and converged upon her. Darkness closed over her head - a sack, it felt like, rough and musty-smelling. There were indistinct yelps and scuffling noises from her companions; Gurgi howled, and gruff voices shouted instructions to one another.

"Get that one!"

"I've done - here, watch that! Somebody catch it!"

"I've got my hands full - you chase it down!"

Despite the circumstances, Eilonwy felt a quick twinge of relief to find that their attackers were flesh and blood and used words like anyone else. The nameless horrors of her imaginings melted away and a rush of bold anger took their place. Instinct, born of years of scuffling with Achren, took over. Instead of struggling, she froze to get her bearings for an instant. Her captors made shining shapes in her mind and she struck at them with all her might, landing solidly; she split one knuckle on something hard and heard a howl of pain. Her arms were grabbed and pinned behind her by two sets of strong, but strangely small hands; in the process Drynwyn jerked at her shoulder and banged against her legs.

"You fool!" one of the voices exclaimed, "you didn't take their swords!" There was a tremendous tug at Dyrnwyn..._oh no you don't._..she shrieked and threw her weight backwards, loosening her arms, pivoted on one foot and swung the other in a vicious arc. It collided with something yielding, and she heard a muffled curse. After a moment of uncertain silence, the same voice grunted, "All right, let them keep their swords. You'll have the blame of it, letting them approach King Eiddileg with weapons!"

_Eiddileg_, she thought feverishly to herself, as she was shoved and pulled by several sets of small hands. She searched her memory for any mention of the name, but it was unfamiliar. They were moving through what sounded like cavernous spaces, but presently the echoes dimmed and were replaced by the scuffling of many feet and the murmurs of many voices, though nothing intelligible sounded through the hubbub. They were turned this way and that, too many times to keep track, before the sound of a heavy door slamming made them all flinch.

The sack was yanked from her head and Eilonwy blinked in astonishment, gazing about. They stood in a cavern-like chamber, high-vaulted, lit with thousands of tiny, multicolored lights. The walls and floor were stone, but stone unlike anything she'd ever seen - there were columns and pillars rising from the ground in great twisting masses of rock and crystal. Though much had obviously been worked by skillful masons, it was sculpted and shaped so as to flow without break into the natural forms of the cavern. Mica and chunks of quartz glittered upon every surface, and cataracts of clear water tumbled from unseen crevices in the roof, all reflecting the colored lights in dazzling rainbows. It was a breathtaking sight that she had no real time to take it in. For directly before them, at a low stone table carved all over with strange symbols, a figure had risen up, with an air of self-importance that quite belied its diminutive stature.

He was a dwarf, stout, dressed in a velvet robe of red and green, embroidered in gold. His bald head was crowned with gold and multicolored jewels. More of them encrusted each finger of his plump hands, and winked from every fastening of his garment. His yellow beard stuck out haphazardly under a face nearly purple with indignation. Like a tiny, glittering volcano, the little figure suddenly erupted.

"What's this? Who are these people? Didn't I give orders I wasn't to be disturbed?"


	22. What Fools these Mortals

**What Fools these Mortals...**

So _this_ was Fair Folk magic.

She ought to have known. Ought to have guessed it, down by the water, or even outside by the lake; weren't there numberless stories of the gwragedd that lived in the mountain lakes, ready to lure in unwary travelers? If she'd been thinking at all she'd have been able to put two and two together - she'd even _thought_ of morgens, for goodness' sake - but she'd been too annoyed to be sensible, her mind too full of furious retorts to Taran's foolishness to have room for reason. If he hadn't been such a twit, she could have warned them all. So it was _still_ his fault, really.

Not that he seemed to care. He and Fflewddur, and Gurgi as well, seemed perfectly at ease, happily following their troop of guides, gazing at the splendor about them - a lush, colorful subterranean world unlike anything she'd ever seen.

It was magical, indeed; and what magic it was - breathtaking in its scope, fascinating in its detail, marvelous in its complexity. Everywhere she looked, it twinkled at her mysteriously, an otherworldly signature that she knew she could never decipher, not if she studied it all her life. It was a language no mortal could speak, beautiful and potent, but eerie. She did not trust it.

Over their heads the roof of the caverns soared impossibly high, studded with jewels that shone with their own ethereal light, illuminating the interior as brightly as any sun. They traveled through lands neatly and richly cultivated, studded with low stone cottages whose mossy roofs were speckled with flowers. Strange plants, many of them luminous, nodded at the borders of the path, where jewels were scattered like pebbles, the ownership of any one of which would be enough to prompt a war in the world above. Eilonwy, glancing at them, heard Eiddileg's voice ranting again. _You plundered our mines, you blundering clodpoles! _She sighed. He was right on a few points at least. For all their king's bombast, and the rumored perils of their realm, the Tylwyth Teg were remarkably patient.

As they passed a tall stalk covered in what appeared to be winged insects, the stem quivered, and the winged creatures popped off and fluttered around them, squeaking. Fflewddur yelped and ducked in surprise, and Gurgi leapt in circles, snapping at them in vain. Taran, startled, raised his hand to swat at one that flew into his face, only to have one of their dwarf guides give a bark of warning. "Don't! They're just ellies. Pesky things, but pay them no mind and they'll leave you be. If you hurt one the whole swarm'll be after you in a moment."

"Ellies?" Eilonwy paused, and tried to look closer. A few of the winged things still clung to the stem they had passed, and she bent toward them. It was odd - like the stars you can only see from the corner of your eye. When she looked directly at one, it disappeared, but she managed, by quickly darting her eyes to the side, to get a sense of a tiny human-like figure flanked by fluttering iridescent wings. "Oh," she gasped in revelation._ "Ellyllon!"_

The dwarf favored her with a slightly more respectful glance. Taran and Fflewddur both crowded around, murmuring in wonder. "I didn't think they really existed," Taran breathed, squinting from the side, as the little creatures began to settle back onto their plant. "What are they doing?"

"Molting," their guide explained. "It makes them fidgety and they're good for nothing 'till they finish." At a nod from him the procession continued, but it was difficult for Eilonwy to tear herself away from examining the ellyllon. The breeze from the fluttering of their wings almost shimmered with visible magic, and it bore the scent of every flower that ever bloomed. It was a heady contrast with the cold stone-and-mineral smell of the dwarfs' power.

Reluctantly she followed her companions, thinking over every bit of faery lore she'd ever read. So far none of it had quite captured the real thing, but then there didn't seem to be any words sufficient to describe it. Given the well-known glamorous effects of Fair Folk magic upon mortal minds, it might even be that nothing they saw about them was real, but it was impossible to tell. And therein lay her discomfort, despite the apparent harmless intent of their guides.

She was sure the Folk would have no qualms about hoodwinking them. King Eiddileg himself had been as tricky and unpredictable as she would have expected. For all his show of being stupidly unreasonable, she had felt the force of his shrewd intellect piercing them the moment he met their eyes, and it had not been long before she had suspected his bluster to be little more than a stalling tactic while he sized them up.

She had little patience for such games; people ought to say what they meant and have done with it. Well, maybe. Her own anger had goaded her into making several rude comments, both to the king and to Taran, whose awkward attempts at diplomacy had only annoyed her further. But the fact that Eiddileg responded with equal outrage to both of them only made her more certain that he was all bark, at least as far as they were concerned. Nevertheless, she had been surprised at how easily he had succumbed to flattery.

Not that they'd meant to flatter, at first. Taran had only said what they'd all been feeling after hearing the Children of Evening singing, but the softening effect upon Eiddileg was instantly apparent, and the temptation to see just how far he could be wheedled was irresistible. By the time he had promised them provisions, weapons, and guidance, all while fluently bemoaning the insanity of his own benevolence, she had almost felt guilty. Perhaps it was this that had prompted her parting words to him. _You're a perfectly lovely king. _She couldn't help grinning at the memory of his surprised, pleased face when she'd kissed his bald head as they parted.

Yes, she had liked him, despite his outbursts. But the denizens of his realm - that was something else again. Within the very troop guiding them there was a dwarf whose appearance she did not like - he was smaller than the others, strangely dark, and his eyes were dead black with no discernible pupil. His edges seemed blurred when she looked at him, and when he caught her staring he grinned at her in a way that made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

Around another bend in the road, a lilt of merry music caught their ears, and they emerged from a cluster of silver-edged trees to behold a troupe of creatures dancing in a circle. There were squatty brown things, with skin like tree bark and patches of mossy fur, tall graceful women with floating long hair whose feet never seemed to touch the ground - and who wore nearly nothing, she noted - and odd combinations of beasts: mice with frog legs, things like winged lizards, and many more that defied description. All were whirling around in a fashion so wild she could not decide if the dance were impossibly complex or just plain chaotic. It was mesmerizing, a tempting, sensuous swirl of sound and color, and she could not look away...

A barking sound suddenly intruded upon her thoughts and something large, warm and solid struck her. A warning flame flared in her eyes. She stopped in surprise and blinked, feeling as though she were waking up; her bauble was clutched in her hand, though she did not remember touching it. Its light was blazing almost painfully bright. Gurgi was circling her, whining in terror; it was he that had nearly knocked her over. She blinked at him confusedly and he pawed at her shoulders.

"The great lords must not go to the lights and the noisesome frolickings!" he panted frantically. "Gurgi smells strong magics and he is afraid. And the great lords cannot hear his warnings! Noble lady's light can help them. Wake them up with lightness and brightness!"

Slightly in front of her, Taran and Fflewddur were walking, slowly, as though in a trance. She whirled to look behind them, and saw they had all strayed from the path without realizing it. A few paces behind her, the strange dark dwarf was following, watching them.

She stared at him in consternation. In the warm light of her bauble, all the vagaries of his form melted away, and she realized he wasn't a dwarf at all. He was small-bodied but long-limbed, brown as a nut, with long, knobbly fingers, sharp features, and great glossy black eyes that twinkled mischievously.

Eilonwy gasped. "You're a pwca."

His smirk twisted in disappointment, without quite becoming a scowl. The black eyes narrowed. "Which eye can you see me with?"

She knew better than to answer that, and anxiously whirled around to her companions. To her alarm, Taran and Fflewddur were nearly upon the ring of dancers. She rushed forward, holding her bauble high, shouting to them, Gurgi at her heels.

Neither seemed to hear her at all until she grabbed each by the arm. Then both of them started, like she had, as though waking from sleep, and looked at her in a daze.

"Come away," she gasped. "If you join the ring you'll never get out again. They'll dance you to death."

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi yelped. "Wicked dancings are not for great lords! Come back, come back!"

Taran only looked confused, but Fflewddur glanced from them to the wild dancers in puzzlement, and went very white. "Great Belin," he gasped. "I didn't even...I ought to have realized." He shook his head, as though a swarm of flies was buzzing around him, and rubbed his eyes.

Taran had turned back to the dancers uncertainly, ignoring her tugs on his arm, and Fflewddur, collecting himself, took the boy's other arm in a firm grasp. "Come, come, my lad," he urged, pulling him around to face the other way, "she's right. That's a dangerous business. A Fflam loves music, but some things aren't fit for mortal ears...or eyes," he added absently, as one of the diaphanously-draped female things fluttered past them, wearing a lascivious smile.

Eilonwy flung her hand holding the blazing bauble into the creature's face. It hissed, the lovely, otherworldly features distorted in anger, and retreated back to the ring, growling. Fflewddur was still gazing after it and she shoved him hard in the back. "Come _on!_ We must get away from them! Back to the path."

"Of course," he muttered hastily, pulling his attention back to her with obvious effort. Between them they half-dragged Taran in the direction from whence they had come. A small troop of dwarfs was fanning out upon the hillside, searching for them; the leader spotted them and came hurrying up, his round face creased with anxiety and irritation.

"What happened? You shouldn't have left the trail! Don't you know anything, you great gawks?"

Fflewddur pointed behind them. "Well, it was the dancers, you see. We all heard the music and..." he glanced around and stopped dead. Eilonwy followed his gaze and felt her heart give a queer sideways jump.

There were no dancers. No strange creatures, no music - hadn't there _just been_ music? Or had it only been in her head? Behind them, an idyllic green field stretched peacefully, dappled in the multicolored light. Butterflies danced over a ring of white toadstools sprouting in the center. From the corner of her eye she saw movement; a small dark figure disappeared behind a tree; a low, eldritch chuckle prickled her ears.

Taran suddenly came to himself with a start, and shook his arms free. He stared around wildly. "What happened?"

"You were almost trapped here for a hundred years, that's what," Eilonwy snapped, clenching her trembling hands into her skirts. Knowing what they'd barely escaped, she wanted nothing more than to drop onto the mossy ground at their feet and have a good cry. As it was she settled for turning angrily upon their guides.

"You're a fine lot if you can't get a few travelers across your own lands without them being lured off! We'd have done as well finding our own way in the dark. King Eiddileg might have a thing or two to say about this!"

The dwarf leader looked dismayed. "You were right behind us until a moment ago. Why would you go wandering off after a reveling? Even the stupidest mortals know better than that."

"Hmph," Eilonwy huffed, suppressing an urge to pick him up and shake him. "It was one of your own tricked us. Didn't you know there was a pwca in your trail? Gone now, of course, the little-"

A long-fingered hand clapped over her mouth, cutting her off. She glared over it at its owner; Fflewddur shook his head at her warningly. "Our regards to the little fellow," he said crisply, addressing the general air around them. "He's welcome to whatever entertainment we provided, I'm sure."

From the case at his back she heard a string pop and he winced and glared backwards. Apparently the harp could not differentiate between tactful diplomacy and bald-faced lies, but the dwarfs appeared not to notice. The leader looked annoyed, and glanced around the valley suspiciously. "I thought as much. He's supposed to be down in the marshes this season. Eiddileg will have his hide when we catch him. Don't worry - I'll split the troop up before and behind you. We'll make sure none of you wander off again."

The dwarfs fell into place around them as they marched back to the path. Taran was blinking hard and rubbing his head. "I don't understand what's going on. At all."

"Kindly lords were almost taken by wicked spells of tricksome creatures!" Gurgi piped up, frisking around him. "And wise Gurgi smelled the danger with sniffings and whiffings! He woke up the noble lady by the light of her golden winkings!"

"He means this." Eilonwy held up her bauble, and returned it to its pocket. "I don't know how he knew to do it, but Gurgi got it into my hand somehow. And it worked. I could see everything more clearly in the light, and I knew at once what they were up to."

"But they're helping us," Taran said, bewildered. "Why would they try to enspell us?"

"It wasn't the dwarfs," she explained. "It was the pwca. And all those other things - whatever they were."

"We've done them no harm," he protested.

"I don't think they meant to harm us," said Ffewddur. "It's just mischief to them, a great joke on humans. Didn't Dallben ever warn you about faery rings?"

"No," Taran humphed. "I'd heard of them, but I thought it was just stories."

Fflewddur clucked his tongue. "Stories are the vines that grow from seeds of truth, lad; that's the first thing they teach the bards. You should hear the legends about the trickery of..." he glanced down; one of the dwarfs had looked back at him with a scowl. "Ah...what I mean to say is, the relationship of the Tylwyth Teg and the race of men has always been on shaky grounds. It's why all our names for them are so pacifying. But you heard Eiddileg. He almost didn't let us go."

"I thought he was bluffing," Taran muttered.

Eilonwy frowned. "I thought so, too, at first, but now..." She sniffed. "Once he promised us safe passage, he meant it, and he'll be furious at what just happened. But I think he'd have been just as happy to keep us here, if it served his purpose." She looked around at their glittering surroundings, which now seemed too bright, too unnaturally pristine, and shivered. "I'll be glad to get out of it. We don't belong here."

They rounded a corner, and a noise unlike anything she'd ever heard - something between a grunt and a squeal - interrupted her musings. Taran's tension fell from him like a discarded cloak; he gave a glad cry and broke into a run. The rest of them paused to watch as he loped toward a farmhouse, where inside a tidy pen, a large pinkish-white creature was standing with its forelegs propped up on a low railing, making a racket to wake the dead.

Eilonwy stopped short, a grin spreading over her face. So.._.this_ was a pig.

_I may have let my love of Celtic faery lore carry me away a little bit in this chapter. One of the only disappointments to me about the Prydain books is how little LA delved into this topic, but he had a different story to tell, and the Fair Folk were ancillary characters. Eiddileg is such a buffoon, Doli such a grump, and Gwystyl such a whiner, that it is hard to take seriously the notion that they are from a powerful race in their own right. Yet even a cursory study of the faery legends of the British isles reveals that the people took the whole business very seriously indeed. I have tried, in this, to inject a bit of the peril and eerie otherworldlyness back into the Fair Folk realm; at the expense, perhaps, of story progression...but I have no editor to rein me in, and can play as I please. You'll all have to forgive my...and our companions'...wandering from the trail this time. _


	23. The Trouble with Dwarfs

**The Trouble with Dwarfs**

"Hen Wen!" the boy shouted, vaulting the stone fence between them and the farmhouse, only to be toppled onto his rear by the pig's joyful greeting as a dwarf dropped the gate and she raced into him. "Oh, Hen! Even Medwyn thought you were dead!" He threw his arms around the wriggly animal, who pranced all about him and nearly upon him, grunting happily.

She was an odd-looking creature, when you came to it, all stubby short legs and a body like a bristly barrel, with a ludicrous springy tail and great flaps for ears. It strained belief that she was as important as her reputation made her out to be, but even had Hen Wen been the lowliest of beasts, Eilonwy could not regret the quest - not while observing the unmitigated delight upon the face of the pig's keeper at this moment.

Taran, a pig-snout-smeared streak of dirt across his forehead, was laughing the most unreservedly joyful laugh she had ever heard from him. For once, the anxious lines were gone from his face; there was no irony, no bitterness, no teasing, no self-consciousness - just happiness so pure Eilonwy knew she'd have felt it through a wall. Sympathetic gladness poured over her like warm rain and she tingled with the untainted _goodness_ of it. Had she _ever _felt that before? All her unease vanished like mist in the sunshine and she laughed aloud.

Taran rose and trotted back toward them, Hen Wen at his heels, both of them grinning. The pig sat politely when she reached the companions, wheezing a little, and Eilonwy reached out to scratch the white ears. The skin was tough and leathery underneath stiff white bristly hair. Petting her wasn't really all that pleasant, but she seemed content with it. "She looks like a wonderful pig," she said. "It's always nice to see two friends meet again. It's like waking up with the sun shining." Taran beamed at her, his eyes alight, and once again a rush of elation flooded over her.

"She's certainly a great deal of pig," Fflewddur added, "though very handsome, I must say."

Gurgi wriggled all over with joy. "And clever, noble, brave, wise Gurgi found her!"

Taran laughed, and ruffled the fur on the creature's head. "Have no fear. There's no chance we'll forget it." He turned to their dwarf guide and bowed. "Thank you. Thank all of you - for taking care of her, and for leading us here."

The captain sniffed, though his round face was rosy and his eyes twinkled. "Good riddance, I say. She eats enough in a day to feed one of us for a month. What Eiddileg was thinking I don't-" A loud harrumph from one of the other dwarfs interrupted him, and he broke off, as if realizing he'd spoken too freely, and cleared his throat. "Well, then. Now that that's settled, let's get you off. Your guide's waiting for you just across the fields there."

Their guide turned out to be another dwarf, a stocky, red-headed fellow in a leather cap and tall boots. He was hung about with a veritable armory, and his expression made his displeasure at his duty evident; but at least, Eilonwy noted, he was solid and real, with no tricky edges.

"This is Doli," the captain announced. "He'll be your guide all the way to Caer Dathyl, as Eiddileg promised." Several of the other dwarfs snickered, and Doli cast them vicious glances. Taran bowed, and the little fellow snorted, took a deep breath, and held it. The silence grew awkward.

The captain of the dwarf troupe stood silently, frowning in a resigned way, as though this were some sort of ritual only practiced because it was tradition, the reason for which nobody could remember. Doli's face was turning purple. It made her want to poke him in the ribs, just so he'd open his mouth and breathe. What could he possibly be doing?

Finally, just when she was about to say something she'd probably have regretted, the dwarf let his breath back out in a rush, and snorted in obvious indignation.

Taran looked bemused. "What's the trouble?"

"You can still see me, can't you?" Doli demanded. The companions exchanged puzzled glances.

"Of course I can still see you," Taran answered, frowning. "Why shouldn't I?"

The dwarf only snorted once more and angrily turned away, with a gesture to follow him far less rude, Eilonwy suspected, than the gesture he would have liked to make. Melyngar having been led up loaded with new gear and provisions, they all set off after their little guide. She could not escape the thought that they were rather like a group of clueless geese chasing an angry bee.

"What do you suppose is the matter with him?" Taran whispered to her presently, as they crossed the last field. Before them, a massive sheer cliff face loomed.

"I've no idea," she answered frankly, for she'd been trying to get a sense of the dwarf the whole time, and hitting nothing but hard mental walls. The Fair Folk consciousness was an alien one, to be sure, but she'd been able to get a general sense of them at least. Doli, however, might as well have been a stone.

They had reached the cliff face, and were staring at it in confusion, for there seemed nowhere else to go. Doli glared at them impatiently, and then jerked his head toward what looked like a crack in the rock. Taran took a step forward and uttered a cry of surprise. "Look! There's stairs - hidden right in plain sight!"

Eilonwy squinted, and also stepped forward - there! Yes, there were stairs, a steep, narrow flight of them that doubled back and forth over the cliff face and disappeared somewhere above, cunningly carved so that they blended into the rock itself and were nearly invisible until you were upon them. Fflewddur whistled. "That is Fair Folk cleverness, no mistake. I've heard of such things, but I've never seen them...and to tell you the truth, I don't much like the look of them." He glanced at Doli. "Are you sure they'll hold up under folks our size? Has a horse ever gone up before?"

The dwarf, not deigning to reply, rolled his eyes in disgust and proceeded up the stairs. Taran looked at Fflewddur and shrugged. "Perhaps it's the only way out. I'm sure they wouldn't send us if it were impossible."

Eilonwy frowned, not so sure, but as they didn't seem to have any choice, she fell into step dutifully behind Taran and Hen Wen, who was staying close to his legs.

The stairs were so steep that within a very few steps they were at what seemed a dreadful height, with not nearly enough space between their feet and the sheer drop over the edge. It was far worse than anything they had encountered in the mountains. Eilonwy pressed herself against the rock face to keep her head from spinning, and tried to concentrate on setting one foot above the other...one at a time, just one more step. Her companions were panting with the effort. Melyngar's hoofs slid on gravel and rang upon the hard stone; more than once she stumbled, bringing all their hearts to their mouths. Hen Wen wheezed and strained, and Taran frequently had to pull her up steps too tall for her. Only Gurgi seemed unconcerned; he bounded just behind the sulky dwarf, pausing only to scratch his ears, and shout encouragement to the rest of them.

The hairpin turns where the stairs doubled back on themselves were the worst, for you lost the cliff face to lean upon, and turning Melyngar fully around required her to practically whirl her hind legs over empty space. Fflewddur insisted on performing this task, waiting until the rest of them were several paces ahead before leading the horse around the narrow bend. His long face was pale, almost green, and he mopped it with a bright kerchief pulled from his sleeve after every turn; but he refused both Eilonwy's and Taran's offers to switch places so sharply that neither of them asked again.

Eilonwy almost wept with relief when they finally came to a place when the stairs turned and dove into a crack in the rock, a tunnel narrow and twisting, still full of steep stairs but at least away from that terrible sheer edge. Tunnels she was used to, and she tripped along cheerfully, pulling her bauble out and lighting it when the darkness grew too thick to see through. Doli, seeing the golden glow, glanced back in surprise, but said nothing.

At last the steps melted away into a stone path, and light and sound broke upon them as they emerged behind a waterfall. It was a delightful sight, but Doli gave them no time to enjoy it; he leaped over a series of boulders and beckoned them to follow.

Oh! But she breathed lighter in the open air! Up here where wood and leaf and stone and water were exactly what they seemed to be, and if there was magic in them it was the plain everyday sort that makes things grow and live and be. She wondered if the Fair Folk found the mortal realm as unnatural and off-putting as she thought theirs, or if it just seemed uninteresting and dull to them in comparison to the splendor below. But she'd probably never know. It was clearly no use asking Doli.

The dwarf squinted at the sun. "Not much daylight left. Don't think I'm going to walk my legs off all night, either. Didn't ask for this work, you know. Got picked for it. Guiding a crew of-of what! An Assistant Pig-Keeper. A yellow-headed idiot with a harp. A girl with a sword. A shaggy what-is-it. Not to mention the livestock. All you can hope for is you don't run into a real war band. They'd do for you, they would. There's not one of you looks as if he could handle a blade. Humph!"

Everyone stared at him in astonishment at this tirade, broken forth after such a long silence. Eilony recoiled as if she'd been struck. "Well, I like that!" she burst out. "Anyone would think we'd forced you to come! None of us asked to be sucked down that wretched lake, or treated like thieves and criminals, or nearly enchanted for a hundred years." From the corner of her eye she saw Taran and Fflewddur both making alarmed moves in her direction, and, anticipating them, took several steps forward and plowed on breathlessly. "For all the help you were getting us out of there you might as well have just pointed to the exit and stood aside. If you don't like guiding us you can just -"

Once again Fflewddur's long hand closed over her mouth, and she felt her shoulders gripped and pulled forcefully back. She glared angrily at the bard's face, but his expression was mild, his thin, wry mouth twitching. "You're about to use language," he murmured, "unbecoming for a young lady."

She threw his hands off irritably. "Oh, _bollocks._" Taran made a choking sound of restrained laughter and she ignored him. "I notice nobody's talking to _him _about unbecoming language. He just called you an idiot!"

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi growled. He had dropped to all fours, shaggy hair standing on end in a ridge down his back. "This creature is full of prickly, nasty words! Gurgi does not like him!"

Fflewddur cleared his throat and glanced at Doli, but the dwarf was already tromping away through the trees, completely ignoring her outburst. This was almost worse than his scorn, and, furious, she stooped to pick up a rock. Once again Taran and Fflewddur both made nervous, jerky moves toward her, but she turned to hurl it at a nearby tree and scowled at them. "I can't believe you're both just going to stand there and say nothing to him."

Taran shook his head, frowning, and pushed his thick hair back, his fingers tight with frustration. "We can't risk losing him as guide. We've no idea where we are now, and who knows what he'll do if we insult him?"

"It's not easy to overlook a slight, my dear," Flewddur added, "but it's a useful skill to learn. A Fflam is humble! And Taran is right. Our mission is more important than our pride."

They all gazed toward the dwarf's retreating back. He made no attempt to see that they were following. She stood, fists clenched, glowering at all of them. She wanted to scream and stand her ground, refuse to go anywhere with the little monster until he apologized. Several different hexes and curses suggested themselves to her - Achren had been good at curses, and Eilonwy was good at listening behind doors - but she didn't know any of them well enough, and anyway probably none of them worked on the Fair Folk.

Suddenly she felt utterly exhausted. All the tension and strain of the last several hours folded itself into a garment and dragged at her limbs, an invitation to collapse that was almost overwhelming. If she stood there a moment longer with everyone _looking _ at her she'd fall down and burst into tears. And there was nothing worse than that. Not even following that creature.

She sniffed angrily, swiped at her eyes, and strode ahead, kicking pebbles and snapping twigs as loudly as she could. She thought she heard Fflewddur exhale a sigh of relief as she stomped past him.

Doli was now far ahead, and they had to trot to catch up. For a while they traveled in silence, as the dwarf seemed to have poured every drop of his verbal capacity into his complaint. Even his muttering had ceased, and he forged ahead without hesitation, following some path invisible to the rest of them.

After some time they paused at a cataract to splash their faces and drink. Eilonwy sat on a boulder, grateful for a chance to rest. The long walk had cooled her fury but she still felt no little animosity toward their diminutive guide, who was standing off to the side watching them all drink, and wearing an expression that suggested they were doing even _that_ wrong.

Taran, having made sure Hen Wen had drunk her fill, sidled up next to the dwarf. "We're making good time," he observed, by way of friendly advance. Doli scowled at him, turned on his heel, and held his breath.

Not _that_ again. "For goodness sake," Eilonwy cried, "I wish you'd stop that. It makes me feel as if I'd drunk too much water, just watching you."

The round cheeks puffed out in a huffy rush of air as their owner growled. "It still doesn't work."

She and Taran exchanged exasperated glances. "What is it you're trying to do?" the boy asked.

The others had come up and crowded about, watching the curious spectacle. Doli seemed suddenly conscious of all eyes upon him, and his pointed ears reddened. "What does it look like? I'm trying to make myself invisible."

They all digested this with open mouths. Eilonwy barely wrestled down a derisive snicker, and Fflewddur remarked, with a suspicious break in his voice, "That's an odd thing to attempt."

Doli flashed him an indignant red glare. "I'm _supposed _to be invisible. My whole family can do it." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that! Like blowing out a candle. But not me."

He turned and strode ahead, but continued airing his grievances to the atmosphere. "No wonder they all laugh at me! No wonder Eiddileg sends me out with a pack of fools. If there's anything nasty or disagreeable to be done, it's always 'find good old Doli.' If there's gems to be cut or blades to be decorated or arrows to be footed-that's the job for good old Doli!" He swung his axe at a nearby sapling, and the honed blade stripped a fine sliver of bark off in a single swipe. They heard him gasp, and knew he was holding his breath again. From a few paces behind, the girl saw his ears turning blue.

"I think you're getting it now," Fflewddur called cheerily. "I can't see you at all." There was a twang, and Eilonwy frowned at the crestfallen bard, who shook his head. "Blast the thing. I knew I was exaggerating somewhat, but I only did it to make him feel better. He actually did seem to be fading a bit about the edges."

Taran trotted a little faster to draw abreast of their guide. "You know," he panted, "if I could carve gems and do all those other things, I wouldn't mind not being invisible. All I know is vegetables and horseshoes. And not too much about either," he added.

Eilonwy, out of patience with their placative attempts, snorted without sympathy. "It's ridiculous to worry because you can't do something you simply can't do," she declared, eyeing Doli appraisingly. "It's worse than trying to make yourself...taller...by standing on your head."

It was a clean shot; the small-statured dwarf scowled at her in a way that was most satisfying, and said nothing more.

They continued in relative silence until it was too dark to travel, and camped in the shelter of trees upon the last shoulder of the mountains. Gurgi, who had also been watching when Taran had been instructing in fire-making, begged to be allowed to try it himself. To everyone's surprise, he was successful - and to their astonishment, he proceeded to divide the provisions from the Fair Folk in equal shares for all of them.

"No extra crunchings just for Gurgi?" Eilonwy teased him, when he trotted over and handed her a share of bread and cheese. His amber eyes twinkled in response to her grin.

"Gurgi has friends now," he said."The great lords and noble lady have shared and cared for him. And his cleverness has found a piggy. He is not alone now, no, not by himself to hide and hoard crunchings, and there is enough for all. And so he will even share with the small one who grumbles and mumbles." He threw a sidelong glance toward Doli, who sat on a rock a little further from the rest of them, but the dwarf turned his back on them, and held his breath.

Fflewddur waved a hunk of bread at him. "Keep at it, old boy! Another try might do it! Your outline looks definitely blurred."

"Oh, hush!" Eilonwy snapped, irritated beyond endurance. "Don't encourage him. He'll decide to hold his breath forever."

The bard sighed, and busied himself with his harp and mending tools. "Just lending support. A Fflam never gives up, and I don't see why a dwarf should."

Taran, sitting nearby, leaned over Hen Wen to whisper, "I wonder how long he's been trying to do it. Fair Folk live a long time, don't they?"

"They're immortal, more or less," she whispered back, "which makes him all the sillier. He's probably four hundred years old, and still having tantrums like a spoiled child. I don't know what all his fuss is about gem-cutting and sword-etching. It's what his kind are famous for. They love doing it."

Taran glanced over his shoulder at Doli, a trifle nervously, but the dwarf gave no sign that he could hear any of their whispers. "Perhaps he's weary of it. I get tired of hoeing turnips, and I've only done that for a dozen years."

"There's a world of difference between weeding a garden and jewelry-smithing," Eilonwy sniffed, "but I'm not staying up all night ferreting out the reasons for one old dwarf's nasty temper. I wish he _would _make himself invisible so we didn't have to look at him scowling all the time. It's like following a thunderstorm." She balled half her cloak beneath her head and sank into the earth wearily. Belin, it had been a long...had it only been a day? It felt like a week since they'd gone under the lake...and given the stories of the faery realm, there was no telling how long it had been. Perhaps they'd come to Caer Dathyl and find it a crumbling ruin.

Taran had spread his cloak a few feet away, and she heard him grunt as Hen Wen settled her great bulk next to him. The pig chortled and chuckled as she settled herself, and finally cradled her huge white head on the boy's shoulder, pinning him to the ground. He tried to move, but his arms flopped helplessly. Eilonwy giggled. "Does she always sleep next to you?"

_"No," _he said, in a strained tone, obviously insulted. "She has her own pen at home. She's just glad to see me, I suppose." He scratched at the white bristly ears, and the Hen Wen gurgled happily into his ear. "I'm glad to see you too, Hen. And I'm glad you're glad to see me. But I wish you wouldn't be so loud about it."

Eilonwy turned her head into her cloak, still grinning, and thinking that, in spite of crowding, it must be nice to have something warm and trusting curled next to you while you slept. She was almost asleep herself, when she realized that a ball of warm fur had curled itself into the small of her back, and draped a lean, whiskered head over her knees. Somehow, its wet wolfhound smell did not seem so terrible.

_I apologize for the very long wait for this chapter. Thank you, anybody who is still reading, for your patience and faithfulness. I've had to work through some major writer's block where Doli was concerned, and finally realized the things I was turning into big issues didn't actually matter, and that I could use my own sense of bewilderment and ambivalence about his character as a decent stand-in for Eilonwy's. He really is terribly rude to them and not likeable at all until further in. _

_Just realized I am only a couple chapters now from the end! I'm a little amazed and a little sad. Fortunately, I still have four books' worth of time to cover after this. On we go..._


	24. Mysteries

Their march the next morning led them out of the rocky highlands, down into tree-clad hills rolling one after another like the backs of surfacing whales. At the edge of a clearing, Taran paused and glanced back at the mountains. Eilonwy followed his gaze.

Eagle Mountain rose, a jagged black ruin of some giant's tower, against the sky. The magnificence of it made her heart swell. "Oh, isn't it splendid. To think we came right over that. Or...well, under it."

Taran chuckled. "I'm glad we didn't have to go over it. We'd still be hanging off a rock somewhere up there. Perhaps my short cut didn't lead us so wrong after all." He glanced at her sidelong, flashing his wry, lopsided grin.

Eilonwy sniffed, unwilling to concede the point despite her involuntary impulse to grin in response. "Hmph. Sheer luck. And a narrow escape from a worse fate, I might add. Still," she admitted, "we're better off, and at least we have a guide...such as he is."

Taran took one last, wistful look at the peak, his face glowing. "I'd like to come back and climb it someday."

"Climb _that?_" She raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Just to do it," he said, glancing at her with a puzzled expression as though surprised at her reticence. "Can't you imagine what it would be like? To breathe the air up there and see the whole world spread out around you? You could almost touch the sky."

"Right before you plummeted to your death," Eilonwy said, shuddering. "you might as well throw yourself from a cliff right off and have done with it."

Taran snorted and shook his head, stepping into the trees. "I thought you liked the mountains. You were the one going on about wishing you were a bird and flying off into the heights."

"That was before a gale tried to blow me off them," she retorted, but she turned, too, for a final glimpse of the Eagle. _You could almost touch the sky._ A little thrill of curious excitement prickled over her scalp and tingled down her back. What, indeed, would the world look like from up there? Perhaps the idea wasn't so mad after all.

But she wasn't going to say that to him.

They kept a brisk pace until the sun was high, stopping in a shady glen for a brief rest. Eilonwy found a tuft of green moss, sat, and unlaced her sandals to shake the dirt and pebbles out. "It's lovely country here," she remarked, looking around. Leaf-shadows dappled the ground, the sunlight shimmering green between them. Beneath the canopy, birch trunks glowed like columns of pearl and coral. The air was warm, but fresh and breezy; the papery leaves rustled around them, whispering of summer. "It's too bad we can't enjoy it." She looked balefully at Doli and the dwarf snorted.

"This isn't a sightseeing stroll," he growled. "If you want to reach Caer Dathyl in time to do anything remotely useful - assuming any of you are capable of usefulness, which I doubt - you don't have time to admire the view."

Taran coughed warily, with an expression in her direction that said _don't bait him. _"It is beautiful, indeed," he said, "I'd like to return, myself, some time on a less urgent mission. I know now why Gwydion spoke so longingly of his home."

He turned to Fflewddur. "I've been thinking of Gwydion, in fact. There was some other reason he was seeking Hen Wen - some knowledge she could give him. I wonder..." He hesitated. "There may be someone in Caer Dathyl who can understand her. But if we could only get her to prophesy now, she might tell us something important."

Fflewddur shrugged. "A reasonable assumption. But how does it work? I don't suppose she roots out a message in the dirt for you."

"I'm not sure," Taran admitted. "I've never seen it done. Dallben uses letter sticks - ashwood rods with runes on them - but I don't know how he does it, and we don't have any, anyhow."

Eilonwy looked at Hen Wen, who was nosing happily in the leaf mould, grunting and snuffling. A less mysterious creature was difficult to imagine, and she was still dubious about the pig's reported abilities. But Taran looked so earnest that she pitied him. Magic wasn't a solid thing subject to rules or natural law; it was fluid, changing, amorphous. Perhaps, just maybe...

"I could...I could try another spell," she faltered. "Achren taught me some others, but I don't know if they'd be any use. They haven't anything to do with oracular pigs. I do know a wonderful one for summoning toads." Taran made a face and she shrugged an apology. "Well, it's the only one I know that deals with animals - though I grant you there's a lot of difference between a toad and a pig." She squinted at Hen Wen, thinking. "I wonder if it's a sort of...puzzle you have to figure out. Or a secret sign or...or a lock without a key. Achren was about to teach me the spell for opening locks, but I don't suppose I'll ever learn it now. Even so, locks haven't much to do with pigs, either."

They were all looking at her with uneasy expectation. Eilonwy realized she was babbling nonsense out of embarrassment, and snapped her mouth shut. Feeling foolish, she knelt next to the pig. She'd read something of oracles, and knew they were not to be trifled with, but surely there could be no harm in trying to communicate.

Laying a hand on the warm, bristly skin, she closed her eyes and felt for the mind behind it; there it was: a warm, comfortable, contented presence, simple, placid, and currently possessed of no thought beyond buried birch nuts. Whispering words intended to slide gently into the spaces between human thought and animal will, Eilonwy felt Hen Wen still under their influence. The pig cocked her head as if listening.

Behind the stillness and simplicity, something stirred; a glimmering spark of awareness, of intelligence. It was visible in her mind's eye but always at the very edge of sight, a shifting will-o-the-wisp that flickered at her and then danced capriciously out of reach. Neither beast nor human, it was an indefinable color and a shape she'd never seen, fascinating and alien. Its movement left an ephemeral trail and she followed it cautiously, reached out to touch it...

"Hwoinch!" Hen Wen shook herself, breaking Eilonwy's concentration, and the girl blinked in surprise as the pig trotted happily over to Taran and rubbed herself against his knees.

Eilonwy gazed at the animal with new interest. So...there really _was_ something special going on inside that humble exterior. In which case Hen Wen herself might have just saved her from grasping something that ought not to be touched by mortal minds at all. A chill washed over her and she gulped, and deliberately pushed away the thought of potential consequences. It was over, anyway. Taran had given up the idea.

"It's no use," he sighed. "And there's no sense in losing time. I hope they have letter sticks in Caer Dathyl, though I doubt it. Whatever Dallben has, it seems to be the only one of its kind in all Prydain." He patted the pig and glanced up at Eilonwy. "Thanks for trying, though."

That crooked grin again. She blushed and, embarrassed, turned away from him self-consciously. _Why_ did that keep happening? When they rose to resume their march she hung back, taking up the rear of their party, the better to mull it over without distraction.

It made no sense. It didn't happen with anyone else. Fflewddur's smile, merry and infectious, was impossible not to return in kind, and she did so wholeheartedly, with a warm, cheerful sense of companionship but no inclination to blush. Medwyn's smile had been serious, as serene as summer; evoking calm and peace to the point of near-sleepiness. Even Eiddileg's smile - brief as they'd seen it - had filled her with nothing but amusement.

Of course she'd known other less pleasant reactions too. Achren's smiles had either angered or frightened her; but then Achren's smiles had portended nothing good, ever.

But Taran, that confounded, confusing boy...his smile had struck her with a strange, heady thrill of breathless pleasure since the moment she'd first seen it, in those dazed, tense minutes after Spiral Castle had come crashing down around them. After days and days of traveling and talking and bickering, liking and hating him by turns, one would _think_ such a thing might lose its power. But no.

There was nothing _bad _about it, of course. Quite the contrary. In fact, its very pleasantness was what worried her. She had no name for it, and she disliked mysteries. Besides, pleasant things got taken away, or twisted around and used against you. Hadn't he managed to hurt her feelings every time she'd let her guard down?

_Pleasure is a trap. It comes in many forms, but always, it is a lure to dull the minds of mortals, to make them vulnerable._ Achren's voice again, whispering over her shoulder. In the name of discipline, Achren had denied her any amusement or pleasure she wanted too much, and Eilonwy had learned to feign disdain for things she enjoyed to prevent them from being forbidden. It was how she had managed to hold on to all her favorite books.

But...but a smile wasn't a book, and anyway Achren was a liar; a dead liar at that, so _why _on earth couldn't she just enjoy that smile for what it was and leave it be? Why must it provoke her into biting back impulses to giggle like an idiot or burst forth in a torrent of equally idiotic, pointless words? Just thinking of it made her blush again, and she glared resentfully at Taran's back on the trail ahead. _It's your fault, Taran of Caer Dallben. You and your Eagle Mountain and your great quests and your magic pig and your nightmare-stories and your childhood memories... _Oh, blast him.

Until looking up, she'd been gazing thoughtfully at the ground, and it had slowed her pace. She suddenly realized her companions were nearly out of sight ahead, and leaped forward, in a reluctant canter to make up the ground. If getting to Caer Dathyl in time accomplished nothing else, at least it meant ending this confounded journey.

How was a person supposed to _think_ when she couldn't even catch her breath?


	25. New Perspective

**New Perspective**

Her companions had rounded a clump of alders and disappeared behind a pile of boulders. Hurrying to catch up, Eilonwy tore around the rocks and found, too late, that they had halted. She plowed into Fflewddur, who caught her by the arm to keep her from toppling over. "Oof!" she huffed. "What on-"

The words died in her throat as she followed the collective gaze. A few paces ahead, within a bramble, a dark, ragged object was twisted: a mass of thin black feathers whose shape she could barely discern. In fact, she only realized what it was when Taran took a few cautious steps toward it. A large, awkward head stretched forward from the mass, opening a hooked beak to hiss at him.

A gwythaint. She'd heard the guards at Spiral Castle speak of them with dread, and Achren had occasionally commanded obedience by threatening to feed her to them. That was nonsense, no doubt...yes, of course it was. But she suppressed a shudder as she crept forward to examine the creature. It was a fledgling, the size of a large raven.

Fflewddur whistled. "It's a stroke of luck the parents aren't about. Those creatures will tear a man to shreds if their young are in danger."

Eilonwy glanced at him and back at the misshapen bird, feeling a twinge of sympathy. If that were true, it made them good parents at least, which was more than one might expect. The gwythaint's yellow eye, rimmed with cracked, pebbly red skin, stared them down with unmistakable animosity. The expression was faintly familiar.

"It reminds me of Achren," she said, "especially around the eyes, on days when she was in a bad temper."

They all turned at the creak of leather, and saw that Doli had drawn his axe. Taran made a startled, defensive motion toward him. "What are you going to do?"

The dwarf snorted, his usual glare magnified tenfold. "Going to do? Do you have any more stupid questions? You can't imagine I'd let it just sit there. I'm going to chop off its head."

Eilonwy grimaced, the twinge of sympathy battling with a sense of guilty relief. But Taran grabbed Doli's arm. "No!" he exclaimed. "It's badly hurt."

"Be glad of that," Doli retorted, "If it weren't, neither you nor I nor any of us would be standing here."

Taran stood up straight, towering over the diminutive dwarf, and threw his head back. "I will not have it killed," he declared, chin jutting forward. "It's in pain and it needs help."

Eilonwy stared at him in amazement. Had he gone mad? Compassion was one thing and caution another; and putting this creature quickly out of its misery satisfied both. She opened her mouth to say so, but Taran looked so...so...oh, what, exactly? Standing there, defiant, his eyes blazing, face flushed with righteous indignation. Stubborn, perhaps, but no, that wasn't quite it. This wasn't like all his other displays of hardheadedness; it wasn't all about _him_, for one thing. She wavered, torn between revulsion toward the creature and some faint, warm emotion she couldn't quite put her finger on.

The gwythaint squawked weakly, a pitiful sound from so infamous a creature, and strained against the brambles. For a moment it looked no more dangerous than any large bird, wounded and frightened, and Eilonwy's heart smote her.

"Taran's right," she declared, surprising herself. "It doesn't look comfortable at all. For the matter of that, it looks even worse than Achren."

The boy threw her a grateful glance, but Doli slammed his axe to the ground in disgust. "I can't make myself invisible, but at least I'm no fool. Go ahead! Pick up the vicious little thing. Give it a drink and pat its head. You'll see what happens." He made a jagged motion across his own neck. "As soon as it's got strength enough it'll slice you to bits, and then fly straight to Arawn. Then we'll be in a fine stew."

"It's true," Fflewddur put in, his voice troubled. "I myself don't enjoy chopping things up - and that bird is interesting, in a disagreeable sort of way." His long nose wrinkled. "But we've been lucky so far, with no trouble from gwythaints at least. I don't see the use of bringing one of Arawn's spies right into our bosom, as you might say. A Fflam is always kindhearted, but it seems to me this is overdoing it."

Eilonwy sighed, for this was the sensible response, but...but...well, it didn't matter. Taran was resolute. "Medwyn would not say so. In the hills, he spoke of kindness for all creatures, and he told me much about the gwythaints. I think it's important to bring this one to Caer Dathyl. No one has ever captured a live gwythaint, as far as I know. Who can tell what value it may have?"

"Well, yes, I suppose if it's any use at all, it would be better alive than dead," Fflewddur admitted. "But the proposition is risky, no matter what."

Taran answered nothing, but gestured to them to stand back, pulled off his cloak, and wrapped it around one arm. Eilonwy held her breath as he stepped toward the bush; the gwythaint writhed frantically, hissing until its throat rattled, a horrible sound that made her want to cover her ears. It slashed at Taran's outstretched hands; she choked back a squeak of terror and noticed, half resentfully, that he had not flinched. The defensive attack had taken the last of the bird's strength. It hung limp as the boy drew it from the thorny canes.

It looked larger in his arms, weak and listless as it was; a heap of straggly black feathers and grey, blood-flecked skin. Eilonwy, curious, stepped closer, and Taran looked up. "It's heavier than it looks," he said. "I need somewhere to put it down safely."

She looked around at their companions, all of whom maintained a discreet distance. No help from that quarter. "I'll make a nest for it," she offered. "I hope it's not too particular. But then I don't suppose Arawn beds them down on velvet cushions." She crouched to the ground and raked armfuls of dead leaves into a round, hollow heap, conscious of an unpleasant waft of air as Taran lowered the bird. "Ugh. It stinks."

"All carrion birds do," Taran said, straightening up, "but Gwydion said gwythaints are hunters. It might be that its wounds are festering." He looked around thoughtfully. "If I can find the right herbs, I'll make a poultice, but I'll need hot water to steep them. Stay with it, won't you?"

He walked away before she could answer, but as they certainly weren't going anywhere at the moment, it hardly mattered.

Eilonwy sat back on her heels and stared at the gwythaint. Were it not for the erratic rise and fall of its ribcage, she would have thought it already dead. Its yellow eye was dull; she wondered whether it could see or hear anything, and if so, what it thought of them.

_I wonder_...she shut her eyes, and bent her thought toward the bird. It took a long time to find it, a spark so faint it was almost imperceptible. There was no self-awareness there, just pain and exhaustion, and a strange sense of _wrongness_, like a key jammed into a lock it didn't fit, an unnatural, forced misshape that made her recoil in discomfort. When she opened her eyes to look at the creature again, it was with pity.

Taran had gone off in search of herbs and taken Hen Wen with him; Gurgi was building a fire; Fflewddur had taken the opportunity to throw himself down and snore beneath a tree; and Doli was sitting near him, sulking and holding his breath. They were all too far away to talk to, so Eilonwy presently found herself talking to the gwythaint.

"You know, you might be quite pretty if not for all your foul reputation," she mused. "Your feathers aren't exactly black at all. They're all full of green and copper and purple when the light catches them. Of course, yours aren't in the best condition. I'm sure they're quite lovely when they're..." she paused doubtfully, squinting. "Well, I'm sure the colors are lovely anyway. But then, I've never seen a grown gwythaint up close."

The wrinkled eyelid blinked laboriously, but she couldn't tell what it signified, if anything. "It's your eyes, really, that make you so vicious-looking. They just pop out like bared teeth. Perhaps you can't help it. If I had yellow eyes I suppose I'd look like I was glaring, too. One of Medwyn's wolves had yellow eyes, come to think of it. Only I thought of them as golden, and they were very handsome in his face. Perhaps if we could think of yours as golden, it would make you seem more handsome."

She watched the lid blink again over that bleary yellow eye, and tried hard to apply the word "golden" in her mind. Was it her imagination, or had the bird's erratic breathing calmed somewhat? "But maybe you don't want to be handsome. Maybe you'd rather be terrifying and hideous. I can't think it's a very pleasant way to live; everything fearing you. For one thing, it puts you in the position of having your head nearly chopped off when you happen to be the one in trouble. You ought to be quite grateful to Taran, you know."

The gwythaint twitched, and Eilonwy frowned. "'I'm not so sure about this, if you want to know the truth. Maybe we _ought_ to have chopped your head off, and with the state you're in you'd probably have been grateful for it. And now we're losing time _again_, all so we can drag along something that's likely to murder us at the first opportunity. It's ludicrous, really. But," she sighed, shaking her head, "it's the right thing to do, I suppose. And he was so marvelous when he was defending you. I just couldn't-"

She coughed suddenly, and looked around, face reddening, but all her companions were still out of earshot. Thank Belin. What had made her say that?

Marvelous, indeed. How could any Assistant Pig-Keeper be...

"Well, he's never _done_ anything like that before, has he?" she whispered fiercely to the comatose bird. "Just stumbled along being foolish and stubborn. Most of the time, I mean. He has his moments... just enough, you know, to keep him from being insufferable. And I keep thinking I've figured him out, but..." But now here he'd gone and done something noble and selfless and _completely out of character._ For a befuddling, annoyed moment she wanted to smack him just for being so inconsistent.

"I think maybe _I'm_ the one going mad," she murmured presently. "I can't make up my mind how to feel about anything from one minute to the next. I keep wanting to cry for any reason or no reason at all, and I can't decide whether that infuriating Assistant Pig-Keeper really _is_ marvelous or just a blithering idiot. When we get to Caer Dathyl-" But she stopped there, and sighed, because she almost had begun to doubt they'd ever get there, and she wasn't even sure, now, what she would do if they did.

There were rustlings in the brush near the trees, and Taran stepped out, his hands full of herbs, Hen Wen at his heels. He trotted over briskly and knelt next to the gwythaint. "How is it?"

Eilonwy scooted aside to give him room. "It's alive, barely. That's all I can tell." She watched as he laid out the herbs, deftly sorting through greens, roots, and flowers. Renewed astonishment at his familiarity with them, and an incompetent sense of her own ignorance of anything helpful, made her scowl at Hen Wen, who sat on her haunches behind him and grinned so broadly that no one _needed_ magic to know the pig thought he was the most marvelous creature on earth.

Taran dressed the bird's wounds and fed it with a gentleness so uncharacteristic that Eilonwy was surprised into silence, though a hundred questions were wrestling in her mind. They were both so engrossed in the process that neither noticed that Doli had come up to watch as well, and she jumped and squeaked when the dwarf suddenly _humphed_ near her left ear.

"That's all very well," he grumbled. "But how do you imagine you'll carry the nasty thing-perched on your shoulder?"

Taran shrugged. "I don't know. I thought perhaps I could wrap it in my cloak."

Doli snorted. "That's the trouble with you great clodhoppers. You don't see beyond your noses."

"We've been a bit busy attending to the needs of the moment," Eilonwy snapped, "with very little help, I might add. Do you actually have a suggestion, or did you just come over to criticize?"

The dwarf crossed his arms. "Well, if you expect me to build a cage for you, you're mistaken."

"A cage!" Taran brightened. "That would be just the thing. Of course, I wouldn't want to bother you with that. I'll try to make one myself."

Eilonwy helped him cut a dozen saplings, and watched doubtfully as he bent them in various ways, obviously at a loss. Acutely aware of Doli's contemptuous stare, she was about to lose her temper with him again, when he leapt forward and shoved Taran aside. "Oh, stop it! I can't stand botched work. Here, get out of the way."

The dwarf's small hands, armed with naught but a pocketknife, seemed to fly of their own accord. He sent them running to the trees for thin supple vines, braided them, and lashed the saplings into sturdy arcs, woven one into another. With an expertise that made them all gape, he was finished in minutes, and Taran picked up the cage, exclaiming over it.

"Now _that_ is Fair Folk magic," Eilonwy breathed, animosity toward Doli forgotten in her admiration. "Certainly more practical than making yourself invisible."

The dwarf scowled at her, his shock of red hair bristling.

The march resumed, this time encumbered with the gwythaint secured in its cage, hoisted onto Taran's back, since Melyngar would have nothing to do with it. Doli, his sympathy for them at an all-time low, pushed forward with almost manic speed, never pausing to see whether the rest were keeping up. By the third halt, Eilonwy, winded and exhausted from trying to help Taran bear his load, loudly expressed a desire that the dwarf would achieve permanent invisibility, which he steadfastly ignored.

The gwythaint, meanwhile, was visibly improving. It raised its head and hissed at every bump and jar of its cage, but was quiet during the halts when Taran took it out to change the poultice and feed it. Its demeanor, however, did not encourage friendly overtures. When Fflewddur poked his finger gingerly through the cage bars, he barely pulled it out again in time to escape a vicious slash from the hooked beak, and they all had to listen to Doli's dire predictions until Eilonwy wanted to shove a pine cone into his mouth.

By nightfall the bird seemed nearly recovered, huddling on its haunches at the bottom of the cage, its yellow eyes gleaming, its foul stench gone. When they parceled out the evening provisions, the smell of food roused it to raucous squawking, and it rattled its beak against the cage bars.

"Demanding sort of guest, isn't it?" Fflewddur remarked. "Let's hope none of its kin are around to hear that."

Gurgi whimpered in terror, rolling his eyes skyward. Taran hurriedly snatched up a handful of dried meat and went over to the cage, pulling the food into small bits that the gwythaint grabbed out of his hands almost before he could let go.

"It's so quick," Eilonwy observed. She had followed him over to watch it tear at the meat. There really was something handsome, or at least striking about it now; the keen sharp gaze and precise movements of a hunter. Its head, held high now on its long tufted neck, was a proud, sleek shape. She held out a hand for a strip of the meat. "Let me try."

Taran passed it to her with a raised eyebrow. "Make sure you keep your fingers out of the way."

The gwythaint cocked its head at her when she knelt before the cage; she felt its doubt, but its hunger was greater, and it did not hesitate when she dangled the meat before it. The hooked beak barely grazed her fingertips and she let out her breath all at once, without realizing she'd been holding it.

"Well done!" Fflewddur had approached, and he slapped his leg, impressed. "Perhaps we can tame it after all." But when he reached out, the bird flattened itself to the cage floor, hissing angrily.

"It knows perfectly well you'd have agreed to chop off its head," Eilonwy told him. "You can't blame it for being annoyed at you. If somebody wanted to chop off _my_ head, then came around afterward and wanted to be sociable, I'd peck at him too."

Taran was shushing the bird, talking gently to it as Fflewddur backed away to the fire. The gwythaint raised itself up with dignity, eyes following every movement, and when Taran finally reached out a tentative finger to scratch at its head, it made no protest. Heart pounding, Eilonwy shut her eyes, and felt the bird's presence there - wild, fierce, fearful...but not, somehow, of them.

"Gwydion told me the birds are trained when young," said Taran. "I wish he were here. He would know best how to handle the creature. Perhaps it could be taught differently. But there's bound to be a good falconer at Caer Dathyl, and we'll see what he can do."

Eilonwy shook her head. "I don't think there's anyone could have done it better." Taran glanced at her in pleased surprise, and she felt her face warm, but it was dark, and no one knew the difference, and _so what if he was marvelous. _

"I daresay," she added, "that the only person more experienced with gwythaints than you, now, is Arawn himself." At the mention of its master's name, the creature looked sharply at her, its beak open in a hissing position, though no sound came out. She hesitated, curious at the mingled terror and anger she felt from it. "That's strange. It bears no love for him," she murmured.

"No," Taran said. "Medwyn said they serve him out of fear. That he tortures and enslaves them."

There was anger and disgust in his voice, and Eilonwy shivered. "Taran. How did you know? I mean...how to help it the way you did?"

He was quiet for a moment, emanating surprise, then chuckled. "I always forget you've lived in an old castle all your life. That's what you _do_ on a farm, Eilonwy; take care of animals."

She was tempted, for an instant, to feel foolish and therefore irritated; but there was no condescension in his voice, just warmth and a little pride. It made her feel instead, somehow, isolated and small. "I...I wish..."

Taran's silence took on a distinct sense of tense expectation, so distracting that she stopped, confused. "Wish what?" he asked at last, hesitant.

"I wish I knew as much as you do," Eilonwy sighed. "About...about things that _matter_. Instead of a head full of spells that haven't done a single useful thing."

"Eilonwy." His tone was mildly exasperated. "How can you say that? You got us all out of Spiral Castle. And saved us in the Fair Folk realm, where we would never have gone in the first place if we'd listened to you." He laughed. "There, you see? I admit it. Knowing how to treat a sick bird is all well and good, but it's having companions smarter than I am that's kept me alive."

She glanced at him gratefully. "Still. I'd like to know how to heal things. Grow things. Magic doesn't do that, or at least nothing I've been taught."

"It's not as exciting as it sounds," Taran said. "And anyway, you can learn that, but no matter how much I studied, I'll never have a magic ball that lights up at my command, or...or be able to turn arrows into spiderwebs."

He grinned and Eilonwy giggled. "Well. I suppose we all have our strengths, then."

The gwythaint looked from one to the other of them, and squawked.


	26. Stormclouds

Furious yells woke her. Eilonwy sat up, blinking, trying to make sense of the noise. A few feet away, Taran was sitting, looking as fuzzy-headed as she felt, while Doli, his face as red as his hair, shook a mass of broken sticks in his face.

"There you have it!" he roared. "I told you so! Don't say I didn't warn you. The treacherous creature's halfway to Annuvin by now, after listening to every word we said. If Arawn didn't know where we are, he'll know soon enough. You've done well; oh, very well." He threw the sticks to the ground in disgust, and Eilonwy realized, with a sickening twist of her gut, that they were the remains of the gwythaint's cage. "Spare me from fools and Assistant Pig-Keepers!" the dwarf shouted, and stumped off toward a log. He sank onto it in a despairing attitude, his head in his hands.

Eilonwy sucked in her breath, realizing the truth. _He's frightened. Of course. No wonder he's so angry all the time._ _I should have seen it before. _She was intimately familiar with the anger borne of fear. No wonder he was always trying to be invisible. All at once she felt terribly sorry for him.

Taran was picking up the shredded saplings in dismay, examining the ruin as though he couldn't quite believe it. No one said a word. Fflewddur, ashen-faced, rubbed his forehead. Gurgi stared, the whites of his eyes showing all around the amber irises. A whimper escaped his throat, and the sound seemed to break Taran out of a trance.

Like Doli, he threw the broken cage to the ground, with a cry of anger. "So once again I've done the wrong thing. As usual." He kicked the pile of sticks viciously, then sank to his knees, gripping his own head as though in pain. "Doli's right. There's no difference between a fool and an Assistant Pig-Keeper."

Eilonwy swallowed hard. She wanted to run over and drag him up, throw her arms around him and tell him he was _wrong_, that Doli was wrong, that saving the gwythaint had been the right thing to do no matter what happened next. But her feet wouldn't move. Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry and _Great Belin _what good was it having words you couldn't say? Like treasure locked away and buried where it was no use to anyone?

She looked again at Doli, who was staring at the ground, and a little of her former irritation with him came back - not fury; she couldn't be furious with him anymore, but just enough comfortable, familiar annoyance to throw off whatever was holding her captive. She huffed a little.

"That may be true," she remarked. Taran looked up, miffed, but she preferred that to his melodrama. "But I can't stand people who say 'I told you so.' It's worse than somebody coming up and eating your supper before you have a chance to sit down."

She scrambled to her feet and approached Taran where he knelt, hesitated a moment, then dropped next to him. "He's _not _right," she whispered fiercely. "And you're _not_ a fool. You needn't listen to him. He pretends to be disagreeable, but it's really that he's worried about us. He's prickly as a porcupine and just as ticklish once you turn him over. If he'd just -"

"It doesn't matter," Taran retorted, cutting her off. "It's not _him _I'm angry with."

"It's you," she said flatly. "I know. But you did the best you knew. And it won't help to fret about it."

"True enough," Fflewddur added. He had stood up and was tightening all his gear with a grimly determined air. "We've lost enough time over that bird. Let's not lose more now that it's gone. At the very least it's less dead weight."

Taran stood up, his shoulders still slumped, and nodded.

They continued on, Doli leading them at a merciless pace that kept them all working too hard to think. The very world around them grew as grey and foreboding as their moods; the sky was blotted out by a dark shroud of thick storm clouds, and cold winds gusted in their faces as they turned westward and began to descend out of the hills. Hen Wen and Melyngar both turned skittish and recalcitrant; they resisted being led, and flinched at every snapped twig and tumbled pebble.

During a halt in the early afternoon, Doli returned from a quick scouting trip looking ominous. He motioned them to follow, and led them to the crest of a hill, from which the Ystrad was visible below.

Eilonwy peered into the valley. It was black and writhing with what looked like a hundred thousand warriors, marching in a long, snakelike column. The din of their feet and weaponry set the whole earth shaking. At the head of the column, a giant, antlered figure rode a huge black horse.

So this was the Horned King, he of whom Taran had spoken with such dread. Even from a distance, the skull that covered his head gleamed, a fleck of ghoulish white against the darkness everywhere else. The antlers swiveled slowly as the figure turned its head, and next to her, Taran shrank against the ground, pale with terror. Eilonwy shuddered, fascinated and repulsed, frozen to the spot.

"They have overtaken us," Taran said, in a voice as thin as parchment.

Doli grunted. "Not if we get hustling instead of dawdling and moaning. We're no more than a day away from Caer Dathyl, and we can still move faster than that horde. If you hadn't stopped for that ungrateful spy of Annuvin, we'd be well ahead of them by now. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Eilonwy looked levelly at the dwarf, her suspicions of his true character growing stronger. For all his brash words, his face was paler than its wont, and he was hopping impatiently from one foot to the other in obvious anxiety.

They took a few minutes to distribute the weapons Melyngar carried, at Fflewddur's advice, in case of outriders. Eilonwy examined the quiver Taran passed to her. It was dwarf-sized, which was only slightly too small for her, and exquisite in workmanship, with strange, fantastic figures carved into the leather. The arrows were fletched in feathers so purple they were almost black, the color of no bird she knew. She buckled it on, and slung its partnered bow over her shoulder, with a fluttery, elated sense of anticipation that wasn't quite fear. At last, they were possibly going to _do something _besides run.

The feeling was obviously shared to some extent by her companions. Gurgi had slung a short sword about his waist, and now he shook the blade in one hairy fist. "Yes, yes! Now bold, valiant Gurgi is a mighty warrior, too! He has a grinding gasher and a pointed piercer! He is ready for great fightings and smitings!"

Fflewddur was brandishing a short spear. "And so am I! Nothing withstands the onslaught of an angry Fflam!"

She wanted to laugh at them both, struck by the silliness of their sudden posturing, but Doli was nearly apoplectic. "Stop jabbering and move!" he spluttered, crushing his cap in his hands.

They did, but at no pace that could satisfy the dwarf. Hen Wen was becoming more and more difficult, and it was all Taran could do to urge her along. After an hour of limited progress, they halted. Eilonwy busied herself readjusting her quiver straps, which were digging into her neck and tangling up with Dyrnwyn. Half-aware that Doli was complaining about the delay, she was presently jerked into full attention by a note of panic in Taran's voice.

"Hen? Hen!" He came running around the other side of Melyngar, looking frantic, and addressed her and Fflewddur. "Where did she go? Did anyone see her?"

Eilonwy and the bard exchanged helpless glances, and shook their heads. Taran whirled around with an anguished sound of alarm, and raced back to the trees they had just emerged from.

She sprang up to follow him, but Doli threw up a hand and snapped, "Don't. That's all we need, all of you panicking and running off like rabbits in every direction. If that pig wants finding he'll find her and if she doesn't he won't. We don't have time for a hunt."

"But," she began, and swallowed the rest painfully when Fflewddur shook his head at her, his face haggard.

"It's no good," he said, jerking his chin toward the trees. "Look."

Taran was running back toward them, white-faced, breathless, and shaking his head. "She's gone," he gasped, when he reached them. "She's hiding somewhere, I know it." Spent, he sank to the ground, his head in his hands, and groaned. "I shouldn't have let her out of my sight, not even for a moment. I have failed twice."

It made her want to burst into tears, to roar her anger at the sky at the _unfairness _of it all. Not after all this, not now_. _They were too close to roll over and accept defeat. Eilonwy crouched over Taran, grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly. "Come _on. _We'll find her. Let the others go on. We'll catch up to them and-"

She froze, mute. A sound like nothing she had ever heard - clearer than a bell, loud as thunder, a mournful wail like the voices of a thousand ghosts - cut across her words, crushed them into silence. If dread could fall like rain, it would feel like this; a drenching, suffocating deluge of pure despair that drowned them all. Taran's hands fell from his face and landed limply in his lap. His eyes were vacant with dull, paralyzed horror.

The sound came again, accompanied by a distant baying of hounds, and Eilonwy searched the faces of their companions for comfort. None came. Gurgi flattened himself against the ground, his ragged ears tight against his skull. Doli's face was drained of color. Fflewddur gazed up at the dark, flickering sky with an expression she had seen on the faces of men heading to Achren's executioner.

"Where Gwyn the Hunter rides," he whispered, "death rides close behind."

In later days, when Eilonwy remembered it afterwards, it always seemed as though the next few moments took a very, very long time, stretched thin like threads in a too-tight garment, pulled nearly to the breaking point. Somewhere behind or within the wailing of the horn, she heard her own heartbeat, impossibly slow, and thought, with a listless sort of detachment, that if it got any slower it would stop altogether. Which was what happened eventually anyway, after all, so what did a few years' difference make? End later or end now, it made no difference; and what was the point in fighting? Because _everything_ was ending, fading away into dark emptiness...

Before the last echoes had stopped ringing from the hills, the thunder of galloping hoofs shook her out of her trance with a jolt; she whirled to see four riders headed toward them from the top of a ridge, lances at the ready, and found she wanted very, very much not to end after all.

Fflewddur shouted an alarm. "Scouts! They've seen us!"

Well beyond the cover of the trees, they all knew that running was useless. Taran drew his sword, but it was Fflewddur who leapt out before them all, motioning with his long arms for them to band together behind him. He ordered bows at the ready, his voice ringing clear and commanding, compelling instantaneous response.

"Shoulder to shoulder! Now kneel!" The bard's face was flushed, almost exultant as he took his place at the end of their meager line and unslung his own bow. "I haven't had a good fight in years! It's one of the things I miss, being a bard. They'll see what it means to attack a Fflam!"

It was strange and unreal, Eilonwy thought, seeing one's potential death bearing down. Fflewddur's excitement wasn't contagious exactly, but it did reduce the sick feeling in her stomach to a mere flutter. Moving automatically in response to his commands, her hands were steady and smooth as she knocked an arrow to the bowstring, thankful that this skill, at least, was something Achren had thought fit for her to learn.

The hoofbeats shook the ground. She could see the bared teeth of the lead horseman, the white ring around the eye of his mount. Her arrow shaft made a straight line that ended at the warrior's throat.

"Loose!" Fflewddur bellowed, and the arrows flew. Eilonwy growled; she'd forgotten the wind, and the shot was wasted. Next to her Taran uttered an angry exclamation and fired another arrow, which also veered off course. But one of the riders fell, and at the end of the line, Gurgi gave a triumphant howl.

"Well done!" the bard whooped. "They know we can sting! Loose again!"

More arrows flew, but the band was too close for a volley now; the three remaining warriors split to surround them and Fflewddur shouted, "Now, friends, back to back!"

They scrambled to their feet as the horsemen circled. Eilonwy reached for another arrow, scraped her knuckles against Dyrnwyn's pommel, and angrily hissed a few choice words between her teeth. They twisted in the air, shrill and hot, and before she even realized what she'd said, the warrior nearest her swayed clumsily in his seat, raising his shield as though defending from some invisible attacker. In the process he exposed his side, and Doli, with a grunt, buried an arrow in his neck.

She watched in astonishment as the man fell, his shield rolling like a cartwheel toward her feet. There were scorch marks upon it. _Good._ At least she'd retained _something, _though she wasn't exactly sure what she'd done or if she could do it again; the residual taste of the words made her want to retch, and for a moment the world swam dizzyingly in front of her eyes.

The two remaining warriors had wheeled their horses and were galloping away when she looked up. "We've beaten them!" she gasped. "That's like bees driving away eagles!"

Fflewddur was hastily slinging his bow away and shouldering his harp. "They'll spend no more men on us," he warned. "When they come back they'll bring a war band. That's highly complimentary to our bravery, but I don't think we should wait for them. A Fflam knows when to fight and when to run. At this point, we'd better run, and fast."

"I won't leave Hen Wen," Taran insisted.

Doli looked at him in fury. "Are you still on about that? After all this? Go looking for her and you'll lose your head as well as your pig."

Gurgi, still exuberant over his lucky shot, gamboled in a circle. "Crafty Gurgi will go with bold seekings and peekings!" He started to move toward the trees, but Fflewddur called him back.

"In all likelihood they'll attack us again," the bard said, for the first time with a hint of impatience. "We can't afford to lose what little strength we have. A Fflam never worries about being outnumbered, but one sword less could be fatal."

The boy took one more anxious glance toward the woods, uncertain. "Taran." Fflewddur's voice was so sharp they all snapped to attention. "She can look after herself. Wherever she may be, she's in less danger than we are."

Taran bit his lower lip and nodded. "I...all right. It's just...it grieves me to lose her for the second time!" he burst out. "I had to give her up to go to Caer Dathyl, but then with Gurgi finding her, I...I hoped to accomplish both tasks. But I see it must be one or the other."

"The question now is whether there _is_ any chance of warning the Sons of Don before the attack," said Fflewddur, turning to their guide. "Doli?"

The dwarf scowled. "Possible. But we'll have to go into the valley, right in the middle of the Horned King's vanguard."

They all looked at one another silently. Eilonwy felt her mouth going dry. But it had to be done. If they couldn't make it to Caer Dathyl, where _would _they go? They might as well find a nice charming burial spot in the woods and wait for the guards to come back.

"Can we get through?" Taran asked finally, his voice wavering a little.

Doli grunted. "Won't know until you've tried."

They all looked at Taran, who stared at the ground as if he wished to read the future there. "The decision is yours," Fflewddur said. The boy looked up, his mouth tightening, eyes burning.

"We shall try."


	27. Life or Death

They marched all the rest of the day, and through the night - no one could have slept, anyway, even weary as they were. Urgency drove them on. They spoke little, too anxious, and too preoccupied with finding their way in the darkness. Eilonwy did not dare to light the way with her bauble, for fear of being seen by the scouts and outriders, of whom they caught occasional glimpses, passing too close for comfort. Fortunately, Doli seemed to see just as well in the dark as he did in the light. Under his guidance, they emerged from the woods in the pale light of sunrise, less stone-bruised and bramble-scratched than might have been expected.

But as one they gazed in mute horror at the sight before them. Eilonwy felt her heart drop into an abyss. Though the towers of Caer Dathyl shone golden in the distance beyond the treetops, between them and that beacon lay a seething mass of warriors. The dust of their trampling feet hung in a choking haze over the valley.

Next to her, Taran groaned. "Too late. We're too late. We have failed."

_We_ have failed, she thought dully. Yes. If he were going to lay the credit for his survival at the feet of his friends, they could just as well all share the blame. If only she hadn't been so ill that first day. If only they hadn't gotten lost on the other side of Medwyn's valley, or tarried there a whole night. If only they hadn't gone down the black lake, or wasted time with that stupid, ungrateful gwythaint. If only...

Oh, what did it matter. It was like wishing you'd been born with twelve fingers.

They stood as though paralyzed for a long moment. Then Fflewddur strode forward, the same fey light in his face she had seen the day before, his pale hair whipping wildly into his eyes. "There is one thing we can do," he declared. "Caer Dathyl lies straight ahead. Let us go on and make our last stand there."

The ring in his voice made her stand up straighter, lift her face to the wind. Of course. Turning into the fight was better than running away to be hunted down. No matter the outcome.

"Yes," Taran said, echoing her thoughts. "My place is at the side of Gwydion's people." He turned to Doli. "You have guided us well. Please, lead Eilonwy and Gurgi to safety, and return to your king with our gratitude. Your work is done."

Lead them to safety! After all this - he thought she would leave, just like that? A flood of indignant words rushed up her throat, but before even one could escape, Doli was already bellowing his outrage. "Done!" he burst out. "Idiot! Numbskulls! It's not that I care what happens to you, but don't think I'm going to watch you get hacked to pieces. I can't stand a botched job. Like it or not, I'm going with you."

Eilonwy wanted to burst out in incongruous and inappropriate laughter, to throw her arms around the dwarf; but before anyone could do anything, there was a ringing hiss and a thump that made them all flinch. An arrow sank into a tree trunk behind Doli's head. Melyngar reared, neighing an alarm, and then everything was turning upside down.

There were shouts from the woods, men running, flashes of metal. Eilonwy found herself lifted almost bodily from the ground and flung toward Melyngar. Taran, having been pitched just before her, was glaring back as though inclined to argue. But Fflewddur, sword in hand, was in command again. "Begone!" the bard cried, in a tone that gave no quarter. "Fly from here. Ride as fast as you can or it will be death for all of us!"

Taran looked wildly toward the woods, at Eilonwy, at Fflewddur, who roared a final, _"Do as I say!"_ and spun, running to meet their attackers. Doli was already in the midst of them, his axe flashing.

There was no uncertainty in Eilonwy's mind; she raced toward Melyngar, snapping Taran out of his indecision. He grabbed at the saddle and leaped astride, assisted her by the arm as she scrambled up behind him, and dug his heels into the horse's flanks.

Melyngar shot forward like an arrow and Eilonwy gasped and clutched at Taran as the motion nearly toppled her backwards. There was nowhere to sit; she bounced between the saddleback and the rolled pack strapped behind it, trying to grip with her knees, and was obliged to wrap both arms around the boy's waist to stay seated. Even then it was difficult. Taran blocked her view of where they were headed; if she leaned around him to see, she'd lose what precarious balance she had. She pressed her face against his back and held on for dear life, blindly, as the horse leaped bracken and gully and went uphill and down with no warning but the bunch and stretch of muscle underneath. Trees and brush flew by in a dizzying rush; Taran's long hair whipped into her face and eyes and she finally shut them, finding it no worse.

It got much worse presently, however. Melyngar, given free reign, tore right through the middle of the enemy vanguard. There were shouts, angry cries, pounding feet and clanging metal. The horse came to a screaming halt; her entire body heaved and plunged, jolted as she was pummeled by foot soldiers; jolted again with the impact of her hooves on their bodies. Taran was swinging from one side to the other, hacking and slicing with his sword at the press of warriors; a twist of his body and accidental blow from his elbow nearly threw Eilonwy off again. A hand grabbed her ankle and she screamed without knowing, panicked; a surge of raw magic filled her mouth; a wave of red light blocked her vision. She kicked at the owner of the hand, cracked her shin against his teeth. He fell back, instantly replaced by others; a sea of roiling, ugly, loud, stinking men with raging white-rimmed eyes. Hot fury and disgust filled her, pushing past fear; she wanted them dead, ALL of them - animals, Achren had called them? - it was too kind a word. Animals were beautiful and strong and wise; these were _beasts,_ creatures below the lowest of the beings of wood and water and wild, worthy only of destruction. Words of power, ugly, iron-twisted, rasping like files, burned on her tongue, crackled on the air-

_No_. A voice without words, a presence she had not felt since the days after the fall of Spiral Castle, surged suddenly into her consciousness and broke through her rage, singing a warning. Dyrnwyn was fully awake, blazing in her mind like flame, and she gasped in pain and would have clutched at her head, if she had dared to let go. Its light was blinding, and yet in it she saw - as she had not seen in her fury - saw enough to know that a giant black horse was bearing down on them from the right. Terror sat upon it, an antlered shadow, a black malignant shape like all her nightmares given physical form. She screamed just as Melyngar gave a final mighty heave and burst through the throng of warriors.

And now they were running, flying over the stony ground, the pounding of Melyngar's hoofs and those of their pursuer matching her racing heart until she could not tell the difference. Dyrnwyn was a roaring, clutching fire at her back and oh, gods, there was death behind and death ahead and death on every side and _no one could use the sword._ Somehow, a detached part of her mind thought she'd laugh at the irony later - if dead people laughed about anything.

They had gained the trees, but the black shadow was upon them; she and Taran both leaned to the other side in a vain, unconscious attempt to gain more distance. The horses slammed together with an impact like an earthquake and then there were no horses. Just air all around, and sky and tree branches where none should be, and then a bone-cracking blow that knocked her breath away. Stars swam in blackness and for a moment she could think of nothing. Terror still clutched her, and Dyrnwyn was shouting silently; its weight pushed her to earth like a giant fist. She gasped for air, smelled leaf-mould and crushed moss and could not think where it came from, and this terrified her still more.

Someone was shouting, gripping her by the arm; she was stumbling over lumpy, uneven ground, lashed in the face by brush and bramble. And there was the antlered shadow coming toward them again, carrying death with it. Jerked back to full awareness, Eilonwy screamed again as it loomed over them. The eyes in the skull mask were flaming, as empty of humanity as a carven image; she needed no special concentration to sense the nothingness that remained of this creature's mind and heart. It was a vast, sucking darkness as black as the deepest pit, an insatiable void that consumed and drained and could never be filled. The horror of it silenced even her scream, and flattened her to the earth in mute dread.

Taran had scrambled in between her and the giant; she felt his fear but also his desperate resolve. There was a crunch and a cry. Splinters of bright metal pattered among the dead leaves like sharp silver rain. Eilonwy stared at one that landed beside her nose, uncomprehending. Between her own terror and the overwhelming weight of Dyrnwyn, her mind suspended blank and bare.

And then Taran was next to her, yanking her roughly up...no, not her, he was yanking at the sword belt. He ripped it from her shoulder; the leather scraped down her arm; the buckles snagged in her hair and she shrieked, more in warning than pain. Dyrnwyn blazed white and furious in her mind, but the sword wanted blood; it wanted to be drawn, and it would not stop him.

She screamed for him to stop, but the Horned King was towering over him, and Taran was going to die in a moment, by the sword in the giant's hands or the one in his own, _he was going to die,_ and she could not save him. The knowledge of it stabbed at her like a knife. Her heart stood still.

_No._

Somewhere, distantly, she heard a woman screaming.

Maybe it was her own voice.

No, she was the child crying. Wasn't she? She wanted to cry. Because someone was dead. Someone who-

A flash of light, a noise like thunder: the crashing of waves, dark green, crowned in white. No, they were in the woods. There couldn't be waves.

The screams were hers. Most definitely hers. The flash was as lightning, struck at Taran's very feet, flinging him backwards. He crashed heavily, his limbs bouncing limp against the unforgiving ground. Eilonwy scrambled in the dead leaves toward him, but the Horned King strode forward, growling, sword raised.

She turned toward the looming shadow, saw the antlers and the skull; saw also, through or behind them, a white face and silver hair; crimson robes and mocking smile. From beneath the agony of grief, righteous anger flamed white-hot as the sun; it flooded her, propelled her up. She flew at the giant, a destroying fury. But she had none of the right words for this power, this fire she'd been _meant_ to use, and her only noise was a strangled cry of rage.

Unfazed, the Horned King tossed her aside like a stray cat. She landed, rolled, and scrabbled at the ground, snarling, intending to rise and launch herself again.

Over her own noise she heard a sound, a single shouted word, strange and unintelligible, and froze as she felt a shift in everything around her. The earth slid sideways and back. The water in the tree veins sizzled. The very air was rent like fabric and knit back together, and the spaces between the stitches became sparks, which merged and became trickles of flame. The trickles joined into streams and the streams became a river and it wound itself around the Horned King in a web of liquid fire.

With a roar that shook the trees, the giant threw his head back, the mask glowing like forged metal. Engulfed, he stumbled, writhing, and amid the acrid smell of magic rose the very un-magical stench of burnt flesh. Frozen, unwilling to look but unable to look away, Eilonwy watched as the fire ate its way through muscle and bone, and still the figure staggered upright, the roar changing to a high-pitched scream. She dug her fists into her ears at the sound, doubled over from her knees, retching, and rolled onto her side with a whimper.

Horrible, _horrible._ She could feel the creature's pain, the despair, the rage, the utter darkness. Like a pile of stone it bore her down. It was like being buried alive. Nothing but darkness and chaos and awful _noise..._

No. No, there wasn't noise when you were buried. It was silent under the earth, after all, as silent as Achren's underground dungeon. That was what she'd always hated about it, wasn't it? And it was silent now, as silent and dark as...as...maybe this _was_ Achren's dungeon. Perhaps it was a dream, all of it, and she'd woken up back in the cell. That had been the last thing to happen, after all. Shut in the cell again. Prisoner.

_You thought you could escape._

I can escape. I can get out of any cell in this castle.

_You have nowhere to go. Who would want to take you on, you troublesome girl?_

If it was all a dream and there was nothing to get out _for,_ except more Achren and her endless grim monotony, then it wasn't worth the trouble. Not if there were really no friends or freedom. No Doli to grumpily pretend he didn't care, no Gurgi to stick his furry head beneath her hand for comfort, no Fflewddur to smile his twinkling smile and lie his beautiful silver-tongued lies, and no Taran to...

No _Taran._

She sobbed aloud, and the sound of her own voice and breath broke the silence. She opened her eyes with a gasp.

Eilonwy blinked, confused, at trees and moss-covered rocks. The sky above the leaves was blue again. Rays of mid-morning sunlight filtered through the green canopy and lay warm patches of gold upon the ground. The only sounds were birdsong.

Her head ached. Remembering all at once, she sat up, looking about fearfully. Taran was still sprawled a few paces away, his face white as paper, eyes half-shut and blank. Eilonwy crawled painfully toward him, hesitated, and held a trembling hand to his neck.

Oh, Belin, if he were dead _what would she do?_

But his pulse throbbed under her fingers. She burst into noisy tears, pushed his damp hair out of his face, closed his eyelids all the way, and almost threw her arm across his shoulders to cradle his head in her lap. She checked herself, horrified. Suppose he should wake up.

She scooted away from him a little, sniffling, face hot, and furiously dried her eyes on the hem of her skirts. At least there had been no one around to witness that.

To reassure herself of this she scanned the area again, and stifled a squeak of surprise, for there was a tall figure approaching with long determined strides. Desperately she scrambled to her feet, remembered her Fair Folk dagger and drew it, and stood over her fallen Assistant Pig-Keeper.

The tall figure stopped. Eilonwy threw her head back and glared him down, waiting. He was only a few paces away, broad-shouldered and weather-beaten, with a lined face and grey-streaked shaggy hair. He had no weapon, and spread his hands placatingly.

"It's all right," he said, in a rough voice, but low and reassuring. "I'm not here to hurt you. Or him."

She already knew it. He shone in her mind, all iron and fire; will and passion as controlled as stallions under bridle and bit. And he felt her probing, she realized at once, with a sensitivity almost as keen as her own. He met her halfway; she felt his honesty and compassion. This was no enemy. She lowered the dagger and stepped aside, nodding. He strode forward and knelt next to Taran, laying a hand on the boy's brow and murmuring words she could not quite hear. The air shifted again and her fingertips tingled.

"Who are you?" she breathed.

He looked up, smiled a very white smile. His canine teeth were strikingly prominent. "I am Gwydion, Son of Don." He inclined his head to her slightly.

Her mouth fell open. "We thought you were dead!" she blurted out. He threw his head back and laughed, and she blushed, embarrassed. "I'm...I'm very glad you aren't, of course."

He laughed again. "Thank you, my lady. So am I. May I ask..."

"Oh!" She dropped a badly-practiced courtesy. Achren, who never bowed to anyone, had never seen much use in teaching her the formalities. "Eilonwy. Daughter of Angharad of the-"

_"House of Llyr," _Gwydion finished, in a low voice. His green-flecked eyes lit, their keen gaze dropping to her crescent moon pendant. He stared; she felt his curiosity pulsing around her like a tide. "How do...where have..." He broke off, reining in, and she had the impression that this man was not often at a loss for words. "Never mind. Later. Are you unhurt, princess?"

_Princess_. He knew. Of course he did. "More or less," she sighed, rubbing her head, "but Taran, is he-" She stopped, choking around the lump in her throat.

"He will live," Gwydion answered, relief evident in his voice. "He has already survived far more than I would have predicted. Destiny seems to favor him." He spoke lightly, and she sensed he was not saying all he thought, but she was too absorbed in holding back another outburst of tears to pursue it.

Gwydion picked up Taran's right arm and turned it over. The boy's sleeve was scorched almost to the shoulder, and angry red weals spread across his forearm. "These are not the burns of ordinary fire," the prince observed, and looked up at her sharply. "What happened to him?"

She knelt at his other side. "The sword. He tried to draw-oh!"

She had forgotten Dyrnwyn. She leaped up, anxiously searching the ground, but the sword had leaped so forcefully from Taran's hands that it had flown off she knew not where. Drat the thing.

Eilonwy shut her eyes and searched for its familiar presence. With the Horned King gone, it no longer blazed in its battle rage, but she felt it, quiet and brooding, and followed the sensation. It was lying nearly buried in dead leaves some distance away. Taran had not managed to pull the blade more than a hand's breadth from the scabbard. The exposed metal shone white in a ray of sunlight. Eilonwy gingerly nudged it back in with her foot before picking the scabbard up by the strap.

She ran a fingertip over the twisting engraved letters. Royal blood. Well. One thing was manifestly clear. She looked over at Gwydion, and a sense of lightness swept over her; the lovely, sweet satisfaction of something going _right._

The prince was wrapping Taran's arm in a strip of linen torn from his shirt as she trotted back to him. The lifeless flop of the boy's hand brought the lump back to her throat.

To distract herself she held up the sword. "This is what he tried to draw. He shouldn't have, but...his sword was broken, and the Horned King..." She shuddered. "I...we found it beneath Spiral Castle, in the king's barrow. I took it, but it was useless to us. No one could draw it. See?" She pointed to the forbidden glyph. Gwydion's expression, she noted, never changed, always grave and serious but for that rare smile. But his eyes were alight as he examined the black scabbard, and she could tell at once that the Old Writing posed no trouble to him.

"May I look at it?" He held out his hands and she handed him the sword, felt the weight of its presence slide from her shoulders.

_"Dyrnwyn,"_ Gwydion read aloud, reverently. "This is a treasure. A thing of legend. Indeed, thought to be legend only. And you found it in-" He looked up at her, eyes flashing. _"You_ were in Spiral Castle? Living there?"

She nodded. Gwydion stared at her silently for several moments and she felt his keen mind piecing things together. But he said only, "Hm," in a sort of thoughtful grunt, and she was relieved not to have to explain further.

He moved to hand the sword back to her, but she held up both hands. "You keep it. Please. I think you're one of the few who can use it."

His wolfish smile flashed again, briefly, and he stood and bowed to her very low. "My lady. You offer a noble gift, and I accept gladly." He held Dyrnwyn out to her in both hands. "Perhaps you will do me the honor?"

Oh, _this? _She'd read about this. Achren had scoffed at such sentimental ceremonies, of course, but that made it all the more appealing. Eilonwy blushed, thrilling, took the sword back from him and gathered up the belt. "I don't know all the proper words," she confessed.

"No matter." Gwydion raised his arms to the sides. "It's the spirit of the thing that counts."

Eilonwy stepped to him, slung the belt about his waist, buckled it firmly, and stepped back to examine her work. "It fits you," she said. She felt the sword's will pulsing with a new sense of purpose and pride as it mingled with his, and added, "in fact, it likes you."

Gwydion raised an eyebrow. "I am honored." In one swift motion he drew the blade. Eilonwy caught her breath. She could almost hear the sword shout joyfully as it shone free, flashing in the light, and wondered how many ages ago it had last been sheathed.

Gwydion looked the blade over approvingly. "Well," he said, "we have work to do."


	28. Missing Pieces

Bedcurtains. Gold brocade bedcurtains. She hadn't slept under curtains since-

Eilonwy sprang up in a sleepy, confused panic, and fell back with a groan. Everything ached. But pain brought clarity; she remembered where she was, and sank into a pile of pillows with a long, deep breath.

The curtains weren't drawn - she had insisted upon that, she remembered now, last night when they'd brought her here, barely lucid - and she blinked at the view: a chamber elegantly furnished, draped in crimson and gold. Through a tall casement, the rosy light of sunrise warmed the room.

She stretched, easing the stiffness out of her muscles, squirmed a little to untwist herself from the voluminous nightshift they'd dressed her in, and tried to piece together her memories of the day before.

It was a jumble of disjointed recollections, which came as no surprise. When shortly after the unexpectedly easy rout of an enemy army, Caer Dathyl had witnessed the presumed-dead Crown Prince appear at the gates with an unconscious boy strapped to his horse, a ragged waif he declared was a princess of Llyr, and a pig who, despite his command that she be treated like something divine, had immediately bolted to begin rooting in the manure piles by the stables, one might just expect a few moments of confusion.

Taran had been taken straight to the healers, somewhere in the north wing of the fortress. Eilonwy, incensed at being separated from him, had broken away from her own escort, and tried to follow. But the courtyard was teeming with re-assembling warriors, and she'd quickly gotten lost in the unfamiliar surroundings. She'd been caught - twice. The second time, her guard lifted her bodily and carried her, furious and sulking, to the eastern keep, and turned her over to the ladies in charge there.

They'd immersed her in a tub of hot, rose-scented water, washed her hair and combed its tangles out with lavender oil - which took an hour - and tended all her scrapes and bruises while she ate the most marvelous dinner in living memory. All the while they squawked and clucked like a flock of hens. Eilonwy couldn't remember ever having been so fussed over, and might have found it pleasant, were it not for her worry over Taran and the rest of her companions.

Her inquiries about whether anyone had seen a bard, dwarf, and strange dog-man creature anywhere in the fray had brought only patronizing assurances that she would be informed when there was any news, admonitions not to worry her pretty head, and, finally, a terse declaration from the head nurse that young ladies should not show such untoward interest in the affairs of men. Lurid description of the affairs she'd already seen had only raised horrified eyebrows and cemented the opinion that it was all the more reason she should be protected from further trauma now that she was among civilized folk. Too spent to argue further, Eilonwy had fallen into sullen silence, and dozed off into her dinner. The subsequent insistence on open curtains was her only other memory.

Eilonwy wiggled her toes under the bedclothes, which were thick and luxuriously heavy, before throwing them back and scooting out of the bed. Thick carpet muffled the thump of her feet hitting the floor. She noticed her bauble sitting on a small table by the bed and picked it up; then crossed to the casement and looked out.

The window looked due east, and she found she was midway up a tower, with treetops shimmering in the dawn just below her eye level. Beyond them, the land rolled gently down, green and verdant fields broken by winding patches of darker green where trees filled the hollows. Stone walls marched down from the castle and wound through the countryside like grey rivers, with towers standing sentry at intervals. Large halls and houses filled the landscape nearby, and further off, cottages dotted the green meadows. Birds twittered their morning songs, and the lazy clang of a cowbell floated from somewhere far away.

Eilonwy breathed deep and smiled. What a lovely place. All she'd imagined and more. As soon as Taran was able, what a time they could have exploring it.

She whirled from the window. Taran. And Fflewddur and Doli and Gurgi. If no one was going to tell her where they were, she'd find them herself, and she wasn't going to be put off another minute.

Just as she put her hand to the doorlatch, however, it moved, and the door swung open to reveal the same head nursemaid who'd cared for her the night before.

Unpleasantness followed. The nurse, a brisk, no-nonsense type, was less interested in supplying information than in ensuring her charge was properly dressed and fed, and all-too-obviously had long experience in weathering the tantrums of royal children. She paid no attention to Eilonwy's grumblings or complaints, and had no sympathy for her impatience. Young ladies, she said, must always control their tempers.

Young ladies also, it turned out, were dressed in several layers - several more than necessary, in fact - of very pretty and restrictive clothing, of a cut and length to discourage any activity more strenuous than sitting or walking. No, they did not run or climb. Or scratch, no matter how bad the itch. Especially not _there._

Breakfast was all that could be desired. Eilonwy was tempted to dispense with any notion of table manners just for the amusement of shocking her attendants. But this had been one of the few points of ettiquette Achren had insisted upon that she had not rebelled against, the only other example being that of the resident men, who'd eaten like starving wild boar - and it was too ingrained a habit to break.

She was mulling over the potential consequences of several different strategies for escaping her chamber and finding her friends when there was a knock at the door. Eilonwy jumped up to answer it and found the nurse blocking her way. There was a quick murmured exchange with someone outside while she attempted to shove her way past the woman's ample figure.

Her protest died when the nurse stepped aside, revealing a richly-dressed page; a boy slightly younger than Eilonwy, his self-importance almost a tangible thing around him. He bowed to her. "Prince Gwydion requests the presence of the Princess Eilonwy," he announced, with a saucy glance at the nurse, who was frowning her disapproval. "Would my lady be pleased to accompany me?"

_"Very."_ Eilonwy leapt into the hallway, grabbed the boy's arm, and nearly dragged him around, stopping only when he dug in his heels. She looked at him in annoyance. "What's the matter?"

He was freckled and red-cheeked, with a pair of impish dark eyes that twinkled at her. "It's the other way, my lady."

"Oh." She blushed. "Sorry. Lead on, then."

She followed the twitching feather in his velvet cap, down long twisting corridors and several spiral staircases, lit dimly by narrow windows at intervals. They crossed quiet cobbled courtyards and entered into a walled garden, where a fountain burbled amid rows of sweet-smelling herbs. A tall figure stood before it, his back to them.

The page boy halted so suddenly that Eilonwy, following close at his heels, nearly ran into him. The boy cleared his throat. "The Princess Eilonwy, my lord." He bowed himself out, after shooting her a grin she was sure was not at all appropriate for their respective positions.

The tall figure turned and Gwydion's rare smile shone upon her as she curtsied. "Princess. A good morning to you." He held out a hand to her. "I hope you have found our hospitality to your liking."

Eilonwy took his hand, feeling awkward at the formality. "I..." she hesitated, frankness battling with an unfamiliar sense of tact. "I've been...taken good care of. Rather-" she caught herself scratching, and snatched her hand hastily behind her back. "Rather better than I'm used to, actually."

Gwydion, himself dressed in fine linen and velvet that looked only a bit more comfortable than her gown, laughed in sympathy. His rugged face was shaved clean and his hair groomed back, though no amount of brushing could have tamed it completely. "The trappings of royalty are not always the luxury they appear," he acknowledged. "But come, be as easy as you can. We have much to discuss." He led her toward a low stone bench and motioned for her to sit. She did, chewing on the insides of her cheeks, and tucked her feet under her endless skirts to try to hide their agitated twitching. But Gwydion had not missed it. "I think you have some questions for me first," he observed, lowering himself to the other end of the bench.

"I've heard nothing of my companions," Eilonwy burst out. "I'm sure Taran is in good hands - though someone _might_ think to let his friends know how he fares. But we left the rest in mortal danger, and there's been no word at all." She sniffed, and looked away from Gwydion in embarrassment, for hot tears were brimming in her eyes, as always happened when she felt angry and helpless.

Gwydion politely made nothing of her outburst. "I can set your mind at ease on all points," he said gently. "Taran of Caer Dallben has been tended all night by the most skilled of our healers, and he will soon be moved to a place where he may rest until he awakens. His recovery will take some days, but I shall see that you are brought to keep him company as soon as he is settled."

Relief made her gasp out a sob in spite of her resolve, and he silently handed her a handkerchief produced from somewhere on his person. "Fflewddur Fflam Son of Godo, Doli of the Fair Folk, and Gurgi are likewise safe, and are resting in other quarters. From them have I heard much of the journey you have taken. They all asked for you, but it was late when they arrived, and your need of rest was deemed of the most importance."

Eilonwy had buried her face in the handkerchief, breathing long, shuddery breaths in an effort to control herself. Belin, she could hardly have felt more like crying hysterically if she'd found out they were all as dead as doorposts. Surely she must be going mad. It was the only explanation for wanting to cry and laugh all at once so many times a day.

Gwydion no longer spoke aloud, but his presence next to her was solid as an anchor, a spirit kindred enough to sense without sight. She felt his mind drifting around her, observant, but courteous; he pressed nowhere. She swallowed, put down the handkerchief, and sighed. "You want to know how I came to be with Achren."

"Among many other things." He wave a dismissive hand. "But only when you are ready."

She shrugged, and, in bursts of long narrative interrupted by his occasional questions, told him everything. What she remembered; what she didn't. It seemed pitifully little, and she was compelled to apologize, but Gwydion shook his head.

"I expected Achren to cover her tracks," he said, "and you would have been too young to remember much, even without her interference. I would that I knew what she had intended, and whether she had a hand in the fall of Llyr, or only seized the opportunity." His fingers drummed on his knee. "The timing hardly looks like coincidence."

Eilonwy shivered as cold fingers prickled down her back. "Medwyn said Llyr was destroyed. It's true, then."

His silence was affirmation enough. "So I have no home, and no family," she said, in a hollow voice.

"Not quite," Gwydion returned. "You have kin on the Isle of Mona, distant cousins I believe, in the royal family. They would happily offer you a home. For that matter, you are welcome here as long as you wish to stay." She felt his gaze upon her, sympathetic and gentle. "But as concerns your immediate family, I fear the fate of your parents must remain a mystery. If I know aught of your mother, nothing but death would have prevented her from finding you."

Her heart fluttered strangely at the unsaid thoughts behind his words. She looked up quickly; but he was, all of a sudden, a blank stone wall, his gaze clouded and fastened on something beyond her. _"Did_ you know her?" she queried, trembling.

He focused on her and then looked swiftly away, but not before she saw pain in his eyes. "Indeed. We met."

Silence. His apparent disinclination to elaborate was more than Eilonwy could bear. "And? Only once? What was she like?"

She leaned into his line of sight and Gwydion broke into a reluctant laugh. "Very like you, in both look and manner. Forthright. Courageous. And unfailingly winsome." He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his green eyes wistful. "And though once would have been enough never to forget her, we met on numerous occasions." His gaze turned inward again and he repeated, "numerous occasions," in a murmur, as though he'd forgotten what he'd meant to say next.

Eilonwy sat back, puzzled. She wanted to pepper him with questions, but his short, distracted answers were so discouraging they were almost worse than no answers at all. She cleared her throat to bring him back to the present. "And...what of my father? Who was he?"

Gwydion blinked at her, the wistfulness melting from his face, leaving behind the firm, strong lines and serious expression she knew. "Very little is known of him," he said. "I cannot even tell you his name, for the queen forbade it to be spoken. Angharad married against her mother's will, you see. She deserted Caer Colur - the stronghold of Llyr - defying the queen and forsaking her heritage, and disappeared."

Achren had taught her something of her ancestry, but she had never breathed a word of this. Eilonwy sucked in her breath, tingling all over. "Queen Regat didn't approve of him? Why not?"

"It was understood that an enchantress of Llyr must wed another enchanter, preferably one with a noble lineage," Gwydion explained, with a wry smile, "to keep the magic in the family, so to speak. It runs in the blood. But it seems - or so we heard some time afterwards - that Angharad chose, from among her several suitors, a man with neither title nor magical ability. She married for love." His eyes twinkled at her, mouth curling with gentle irony. "Which is an unpardonable offense for someone in our positions. Remember that."

Eilonwy giggled. "I will. But...oh, it's lovely." She sighed, her eyes on the sky, enraptured at the thought that her parents had been happy. In love. "Terribly romantic."

Gwydion grunted. "Perhaps." She looked at him quickly, took in his thoughtful frown, read his general sense of disquiet.

"You think she was wrong," she said flatly.

He shot her a piercing glance. "No. But I do wonder. Your mother was the only heir to the throne of Llyr, which was a great power and important ally. Its destruction happened, as far as we know, almost immediately after she disappeared. The entire island collapsed into the sea; a disaster unparalleled in written history. Thousands of lives were lost."

"Oh." Eilonwy swallowed hard. "And you...you think it was her fault."

"I do not say so," Gwydion said, after a long pause. "It would not have been like her to leave, had she known it would provoke such disaster. But it has always troubled me. Something happened there, that none has been able to discover. How she was involved, exactly why she left when she did, and what she may have taken with her...it may never be known. But at least now we know that she survived long enough to bring you into the world." His smiled at her warmly. "Surely a worthy legacy."

His gaze suddenly froze on her hands. She had, in her agitation, pulled her bauble from her pocket and was twirling it in her fingertips. Seeing his expression, she stopped, cupping her hands over it. "Sorry. It's an old habit. I daresay young ladies aren't supposed to fiddle with things."

"No, no," Gwydion protested. His serious expression had broken into wonderment. "May I see that?"

Eilonwy held up the golden ball. He did not touch it, only examined it with reverence, and whispered something she could not make out. He looked her in the eye. "Did you know that was your mother's?"

Warm gladness bloomed in her chest. "I thought it might be," she said, "because I couldn't imagine Achren giving it to me. But I wasn't sure. She never tried to take it."

"No," Gwydion said, that wistful smile back on his face. "She coveted it, beyond a doubt, but it would have done nothing for her. But for you-" he hesitated. "Can you use it?"

"I can do this." She cupped the smooth sphere, felt it ignite, and held it glowing before his face. A spark of gold mirrored it in both his eyes. She felt from him a rush of emotions so palpable it almost knocked her over, too many, too intense even to unravel one from the other. He was looking at the light as though transfixed, and with an effort that felt like a dam breaking, he tore his eyes away and gently pushed her hand down, blocking the glow from his vision.

"Is there more than that?" she asked.

Gwydion's mouth was a straight, grim line as he looked at her. "That is enough," he said in a low voice, "for now."

Abruptly he stood up. "Well then. I believe I know a few noble warriors who will be as glad to see you as I am, and who ought to be finishing their breakfasts by now. Come." He held out his arm; she took it, glad the conversation was over, and hurriedly pocketed her bauble.

It seemed there really were things you were better off not knowing.

* * *

This chapter dedicated to Prydain's Chief Lurker, in gratitude for fanchats at ungodly hours, broken writer's block, and a thousand new plot bunnies just waiting to be swept up. :)


	29. Waiting and Wondering

The Great Hall of Caer Dathyl was aptly named; it was cavernous and splendid, and managed to be grand even when it was full of the noise and mess of a hundred feasting warriors - which it was, just now. Torches blazed along the walls and in the sconces of great hanging braziers. Tapestries three times taller than a man covered the walls, between swords and shields hung in crisscrossed patterns. Banners embroidered with the emblems of every cantrev in Prydain swung lazily from enormous rafters far above. Golden rushes covered the floor.

Gwydion escorted Eilonwy toward a long table, where a familiar spiky yellow head bobbed, over a body whose long arms were gesticulating wildly to accompany the tale their owner was telling. She got there in time to hear the men around him erupt into roars of laughter, which was quickly hushed when Gwydion appeared at the table's head. As one, every man leaped to his feet, bowed to the prince, and remained standing. Fflewddur scrambled out of the crowd, beaming, and Eilonwy ran to the lanky bard and threw her arms around him.

"Well, well!" He was laughing, squeezing her in an answering embrace. "So, it seems we're all in one piece, eh?" He laid his hands on her shoulders and held her out at arm's length to look her over. He was clean and shaved; his patchwork threadbare garments had been replaced with the sturdy and unpretentious garb of a warrior. "Some of us in better-turned-out pieces than others. How does it feel to be dressed like a princess again?"

"Again?" She laughed. "I never was before. And to be quite honest..." she hesitated, glanced around, and leaned toward him to whisper, "I feel like a pudding poured into its skin. It's dreadful."

Fflewddur's head rocked back in a peal of laughter, and just as she registered his use of her title, there were excited yelps behind her. She whirled around. Gurgi was capering toward her, his head wrapped in a bandage, his forward progress impeded slightly by his tendency to pause and turn in excited circles the closer he got. Laughing, she opened her arms to him and he leaped into them. "Oh, joyful morning!" he cried. "Gurgi thought he would never see his friends again! And here is the noble lady well and whole! And see what feastings and heapings are laid on the tables. Gurgi has never known such crunchings and munchings. He has had his fill at last!"

Over his curly, coarsely-furred head Eilonwy saw the tip of a red cap. She straightened up as Doli stepped into view, his red eyes twinkling over something that just might pass for a rusty, long-disused smile. Then, to her utter shock, he swept his cap off and bowed to her, rose and held out a very square, stubby hand. She took it, blushing in embarrassment. "A good morning to you, my Lady," the dwarf said gruffly, "and a salute." He winked. "I hope you can forgive an old fellow his foolishness."

"Of course," she stammered, growing increasingly conscious of being the center of attention. Even the assembled warriors, all of them still standing, were watching the reunion with interest and amusement, and she felt the curious gaze of many, many pairs of eyes. Memories of men's faces, leering from the tables in the Great Hall of Spiral Castle, pushed themselves into her mind and she leaned unconsciously into Fflewddur, who laid a protective arm about her shoulders.

"Courage, dearest," he whispered. "These are all friends. They are standing for you, you know."

She blinked, and looked again through the faces. She saw-and felt-curiosity, yes, but also respect, reverence, wonderment...even a wistful sense of paternal affection, as though some were thinking of their daughters. There was no ugliness, no hint of the nameless dark threat she had sensed from most of Achren's guards. Eilonwy relaxed, and stood up straight. Gwydion, returning from a conference with another page, appeared at her other side.

"Taran is resting in the north hall," he informed her, with what could only be described as a grin, his sharp canines flashing. "If you are satisfied with our care of these-" he nodded at her trio of beaming companions -"perhaps you'd like to examine his progress now."

"Oh, yes!" She hugged Fflewddur again and kissed his smooth cheek, gratified to see it turn bright pink; patted Gurgi on the head and nodded hastily to Doli as Gwydion once again held out his arm. As they left the Hall, she heard a tremendous noise of scraping and thumping as all the men resumed their seats.

They passed through a maze of corridors and towers, up and down stone staircases and in and out of archways and courtyards. It was enormous, more of a village than just a castle. Everywhere they went, men and women, even children they passed paused in their work and bowed automatically. Gwydion nodded in return but otherwise barely acknowledged them. Eilonwy wondered how long it took before you got so used to that sort of thing, and whether anyone thought it rude to be so overlooked.

Finally they entered a long, low hall lined with doors on one side and large windows on the other, their shutters thrown open to let in a warm draft of sweet, fresh air. Gwydion led her to one of the doors, opened it, and ushered her inside.

The chamber within was small, but bright and airy thanks to the long window on the opposite wall. Clean yellow rushes covered the floor. Against the wall next to the window stood a couch draped with snowy white linen. Next to it, a bearded man in a long robe was kneeling, his hand at the wrist of the boy lying there. The man looked up, but Eilonwy barely noticed him; she broke away and hurried to the couch.

"Hsh!" the bearded man held up a large, fine-boned hand. "He still sleeps, and must awaken on his own. Even then he is not to be disturbed in any way, and should not rise for at least a day. After that...we shall see."

Taran's eyes were shut; his face looked thin and a little sallow against the clean white linen of his shirt and the bedclothes. He'd obviously been bathed; all the grime and blood was gone; his dark hair was clean and combed. His right sleeve was split and rolled to the shoulder, and his arm, lying limp next to him, was bandaged from palm to elbow.

He still looked so pale and ill that the familiar lump formed in her throat; she wanted to take his bandaged hand, but Gwydion and the healer were still standing there watching. She gulped. "Is he...he _will _be all right, won't he? Truly?"

Gwydion's eyes were kind as he indicated the other man with a nod. "No fear. If Emrys says he will recover, he will."

From somewhere outside, a loud squeal and a chorus of several alarmed voices erupted. Feet scuffled. Moments later, a large white pig hurtled through the door, trailing a rope and three red-faced stable boys.

Emrys scrambled in front of the couch, his arms spread protectively. Eilonwy, laughing, called the pig's name to distract her from her obvious intention of sharing Taran's couch. The stable boys, horrified at appearing thus before Gwydion, were all bowing and stammering out apologies. The prince, who looked stern and disapproving but who, she felt, was actually fighting back laughter, ordered them all outside and turned to the scene within.

"Hen Wen!" he barked, and the pig instantly halted her struggle and turned to look at him, beaming all over her wide face. Gwydion knelt, his face at her level, and she trotted over until they were nearly nose-to-nose. Eilonwy watched them curiously as a strange, thick silence fell, broken only by the occasional grunt or snuffle from the pig. Then Hen Wen turned, trotted to a corner of the room, and lay her bulky body down with a contented sigh. Gwydion rose and announced, "She will stay with him until he awakens."

Emrys looked startled. "The...the pig, my lord? Or the girl?"

"Both," Gwydion answered, and winked at Eilonwy. "The oracle, and the princess. You will have no trouble from either, and I daresay you could not find more attentive nurses."

"I..." Emrys looked from Gwydion to Hen Wen and back again. "This is most unusual. Are you certain that-"

Gwydion gave one level, decided nod. Emrys sighed. "Very well." He nodded to Eilonwy. "I shall leave him to you, then. Let no one disturb him, and let me know when he awakens." He left silently, and Gwydion, with a final nod and grin at her, followed him out and shut the door.

Eilonwy looked around the rest of the room; it was unadorned save with a lampstand on the wall and an osier stool in one corner. She crossed to it and sat; then she frowned, rose, gathered up her skirts in her hands, and sat again, depositing into her lap the excess fabric that had been bunching underneath her. Belin. What a nuisance.

A serene quiet fell, made up of the small, indistinct sounds that drifted in through the window; birds twittering, the occasional neigh of a horse and clip-clop of hooves on cobblestone, the bark of a hound, the faint, far-off chatter of men and women going about their business.

She wondered how many people lived within the castle and its guardian walls. It seemed to be teeming with them, a situation quite outside her experience. Spiral Castle had been sparsely-run; besides a few dozen guards and a handful of stablehands and gardeners, Achren had employed only a cook and two surly serving maids. Yet Gwydion had led her past dozens of individuals, and now that her anxiety about Taran had been assuaged, she thought over what she'd seen.

Boys and girls no older than she scurried through the hallways carrying firewood or baskets of laundry. In the courtyards, men and women haggled with the owners of large wagons, piled with the fruits of the surrounding fields. In one yard a small group of boys was sparring with wooden swords, while a master-at-arms shouted instruction over the clatter of their weapons. They had passed a building from which came the din of hammers on metal, and the entrance to what had to be the kitchens, for scullery maids were popping up and down its sunken stairway, bearing trays and baskets that wafted heavenly smells in all directions. Through one archway she had glimpsed a group of young ladies, slightly older than herself and richly attired in every color of the rainbow, sitting in a circle around a fountain, needlework in their hands. Despite her instantaneous assessment of the dullness of this activity, she found herself harkening to their laughter, which had chased behind her, filling her with a strange sense of longing and loneliness.

It was exciting, the crowding and the bustle. She'd hardly believed so many people _existed_ – though of course she'd read of such things. This place must _never _be dull, never dreary and silent like Spiral Castle. If it was this busy and lively on an ordinary day, what must it be like during a celebratory event? Fflewddur had said the nobility loved ceremony. She hoped it would not be long before they got to see some.

Of course, she'd have plenty of opportunity to see some, if she stayed here. But…

Eilonwy sighed, and tugged at her pendant, crooking her fingertip into the curve between the crescent's horns. Would she stay?

"Of course I will," she said aloud, without meaning to. Hen Wen snorted, and opened her eyes, blinking at her sleepily. "It's all right for _you_," Eilonwy told her crossly. "You know exactly where you belong, don't you? What is it like, to know you're going home?"

The pig shut her eyes again, twitching an ear. As with the gwythaint, Eilonwy felt any ear would do. "I wonder if you _do_ know. Whatever part of you knows about...about things a pig _shouldn't_...it doesn't seem to talk to the rest of you. So maybe you're happy so long as you're safe and comfortable and fed, and not picky about where it happens. Though you do seem happiest when you're with _him_." Eilonwy nodded toward Taran's couch, and sat silent for a long moment.

"But then no one expects a pig to be anything but a pig," she continued presently, "so no matter where you go it'll be table scraps and straw beds. Nobody dressing you up in awful scratchy things. Or telling you what a pig should or shouldn't do. Or probably expecting you to sit with a bunch of girls and poke about with needles and thread."

Hen Wen had opened her eyes again, and was surveying her from beneath long white lashes. "I suppose I could get used to it after a while," Eilonwy sighed. "And maybe I haven't much choice. If I don't stay here...I suppose, if Gwydion is right, I'd go to my kinsmen." She tugged at her pendant again. "I always thought they must be fools for sending me to Achren. But it seems no one actually knew I was with Achren at all. And I'd be on an island, near where my family came from. If I _have _to be dressed up like a goose and made to be uncomfortable I'd rather be there. I think."

She leaned her head back against the cool stone wall, carefully avoiding the tender lump it had acquired the day before. "It's like choosing whether you want to be drowned or hanged. I thought Caer Dathyl would be lovely – and it _is. _But if the way I've begun is the way I'm meant to go on, I...I don't think I..."

Eilonwy fell silent. Medwyn's words had slipped unbidden into her mind. _Few wild birds enjoy a cage. You have escaped an iron one. Take care that you do not fly into another one, though it be golden._

Was this what he'd meant? How had he known?

_Young ladies should not talk so much._

_Mercy on us, child! Search among the men? What an idea! You'll stay right here like a good girl and when there is any news of your friends, you'll be told._

_Stop talking and hold your breath so I can lace you up. What do you mean? Why would you need to run? Young ladies have no need to run about shouting like vulgar little boys. _

_A book? So, you can read, can you? Hmph. I shall inquire for something from the Halls. Something...appropriate._

Eilonwy groaned aloud. Of course, it might not always be so. She could appeal to Gwydion, who at least treated her like she had a mind of her own, and he might command that she be allowed a bit more freedom. But then again, he might not. Perhaps he was making allowances for her because he knew her history. Perhaps this was just How It Was and she'd be expected to live up to it. And there was no reason to expect it to be different with her kin on...Mona, was it?

It was intolerable. "I won't do it," she said aloud, to counteract any twist of fate she might have set spinning by her previous declaration. "I don't care. They can't make me stay at either place." But could they?

She could go with Fflewddur, she thought, brightening. She loved him, and she suspected he'd be glad to have her along. He needed someone sensible about to help him, and nobody could say it was unsuitable for a princess to travel with a king. How jolly it would be, traipsing across the country, singing for their supper. Perhaps she could learn to play the whistle and accompany him on the harp. They'd go exactly where they pleased, and the four of them could-

Wait, no. She frowned, realizing she'd automatically included Taran and Gurgi in her imaginings. But no, of course not. Taran was going home with Hen Wen, and he'd invited Gurgi to go with him. Eilonwy wound the silver chain tight around her finger and swallowed hard, feeling strangely hollow.

He was leaving. In all likelihood she'd never see him again, not if she were barding about with Fflewddur. Not even if she stayed at Caer Dathyl. What reason would he have to return? Of course she'd had moments of wishing him away, but...but that was ages ago, and now that it was a tangible possibility...

A hundred different impressions crowded upon her memory; mostly the quiet moments between all the crises and emergencies. How he had bantered Fflewddur in delight at making her laugh, and comforted her after her nightmares. The skill in his hands while he built a fire, and handled the wounded bird. The gleam in his eyes and quirked, crooked grin when he teased her. How he'd tried to protect her in those last terrible moments with the Horned King.

How she'd felt when she thought he would die.

Eilonwy tugged at her pendant so hard the chain bit into the back of her neck, but it hurt less than the thought of not seeing Taran again. She told herself not to be silly, tried to fight off the knowledge that she cared too much, to push it down and pretend it didn't matter. She tried to think about something else - _anything_ else.

But it didn't work. There were no distractions here, nothing but the room and the window and the white pig and the boy, both sleeping on and on while she fretted. All at once she was vexed. How could he lie there sleeping when she was so upset? Perhaps there were beautiful dreams going on behind that peaceful expression of his. He could be dreaming of Caer Dallben, contentedly looking forward to going back to his old life; of getting further and further from their whole adventure until it was, itself, as hazy as a dream. And finally, nearly forgotten.

Would he forget her, too?

In a twinkling Eilonwy made up her mind. She'd just go with him, that's all. It seemed a rebellious, defiant idea somehow, and she sat up and poked her chin out, although there was no one there to see. She hadn't been invited, and she had no blood tie or claim on it, but...well, he'd _almost _invited her, hadn't he? Anyway it was a natural enough thing to want to see a place she'd heard so much about. Nobody would refuse her a look at Taran's home, not if she put her foot down, and what good was it being a princess if you couldn't insist on something once in a while? She'd travel back to Caer Dallben with him for a visit and after that...

Well, never mind after that. The main thing was to get there.

She sighed, curled up on the osier stool, laid her cheek against the low curl of wicker that served as its back, and shut her eyes.


	30. Awakening

A loud "hwoinch!" woke her up. Eilonwy raised her head, rubbed her eyes. The light from the window had the bright stark quality of high noon, confirmed by the hollow ache in her stomach. Several hours must have gone by. Hen Wen had risen and was staring at the door, from whence in a moment a soft knocking sounded.

It was a servant with her dinner, which she took back to the stool. Hen Wen sat at her feet and gazed upward with longing, so she dropped several morsels to the floor, and the pig nuzzled among the rushes for them, snorting. Eilonwy ate, and looked at Taran. He did not seem to have moved, but his eyes had lost their sunken quality, and his breathing was deep and even.

Leaving her remnants on the floor for Hen Wen, Eilonwy got up and crossed to the window. Outside was a grassy expanse, at the far edge of which alders began to cluster around a low stone building, elegant and beautiful in design. Cultivated rose hedges wound among the trees and climbed over walls and archways in sprays of pink, yellow and red.

There were people strolling under the trees and through the roses, singly or in groups of two or three. They were dressed in robes of light, airy colors. A few had books or scrolls in their hands. One was sitting beneath a tree with a harp, though if he was playing, she could not hear it from here. The scene was so peaceful and lovely she stared a long time, wishing she might step through the window and go explore it. But suppose Taran woke up while she was gone?

She turned and looked at him again. His couch was right beside her, the pillow at her right hand, and from this vantage point and angle his face was rounded, nose snubbed, eyelashes a dark tangled fringe over cheeks golden-freckled and sunburnt even through his pallor. How had she never noticed how long his eyelashes were? She had an odd fancy that this must be how he looked when he was very young, and wished, even more oddly, that his mother could have seen him.

A sense of common loss filled her with sadness. _Mine never saw me either._ But...whence came the images, then? Those flashes of slim white hands and fiery hair, that voice that sang of Llyr's white horses and wind upon the water?

She began humming to herself, that tune that she'd always known and couldn't remember learning, the one Achren had always scowled at and told her to be silent. She wished she knew all the words instead of just a few snatches of phrase; it had the frame of a lullaby, but there was a love story in it somewhere, too, with sea and sadness all mixed in, like colors in a dye pot, swirling together. Humming, gazing inward, she was unaware that she had reached out to the boy on the couch, did not know that her hand was stroking the hair back from his temple, would not have known it was what her mother had done for her while she sang the same song.

There was a break in the rhythm of Taran's breath; he stirred, and his movement brought her to herself. Eilonwy gasped, jerked her hand away as though she'd touched a serpent, and scuttled across the room, plunking herself onto the stool so hard she winced. She curled her legs up and hugged her knees to her chest, hiding most of her flaming face behind them, peering over at him as his limbs twitched. His eyes fluttered open once, twice...the third time they stayed open.

Hen Wen made a sound halfway between a grunt and a squeal. She got to her feet with what, in anything less bulky than a pig, would have been a joyful bound, waddled to the couch, and pushed her cold, bristly snout into the space between the boy's ear and bare neck. A wordless sound of surprise escaped his open mouth; his eyes were bewildered and round. Eilonwy forgot her embarrassment in a flood of amusement and relief. She laughed aloud. "You should see your expression. You look like a fish that's climbed into a bird's nest by mistake."

Taran looked at her, dumbfounded, tried to push himself up, and sank down again. Oh, he was awake – truly awake! Eilonwy was so giddy she hopped up from the stool and plunked herself down on the edge of the couch. "Oh, I'm so glad you've woken up! You can't imagine how boring it is to sit and watch somebody sleep. It's like counting stones in a wall."

At the word "wall" his eyes flickered around the small room and he found his voice at last. "Where have they taken us?" It came out in a hoarse croak. "Is this Annuvin?"

Oh, good _Llyr, _he didn't remember anything! She knew he'd been unconscious until their arrival at the castle but not the entire time. Still, how could anyone lie in this room and all its bright fragrant air and think _that? _"That's exactly the sort of question you _would _ask," she chided him, shaking her head. "Why does the most unpleasant possibility always pop into your head first? Do you really think any place in Annuvin could be as nice as this? Your wound must have done something to your head."

He was frowning a little now, that familiar furrowing of his brow, and she almost had to sit on her hands to keep from cupping them around his face at the sight. "That's better," she declared. "You look more like yourself now. But you still have that greenish-white color, like a boiled leek."

Taran grunted and threw back the bedclothes; he shifted as though to roll over, then put a hand to his head and fell back weakly. "Stop chattering," he growled, "and tell me where we are."

Eilonwy pushed the covers back over him and patted his good arm. "You aren't supposed to get up yet, but I imagine you've just discovered that for yourself. Stop that, Hen!" The pig had deposited her front feet on the couch, and gave every sign of an impending attempt to send the rear ones after. Eilonwy snapped her fingers at her. "You know he isn't to be disturbed or upset and especially not sat on." She pushed the bulky body back off the couch and turned back to Taran. "We're in Caer Dathyl. It's a lovely place – much nicer than Spiral Castle."

Comprehension and fear dawned on his face. "The Horned King!" he gasped. "What happened? Where is he?"

"Shhh." She pushed him back onto his pillow and fluffed it under his neck. "In a barrow, most likely, I should think."

He grabbed her wrist, his eyes wide. "He's dead?"

"Well, naturally," Eilonwy answered. "You don't think he'd stand being put in a barrow if he weren't, do you? There wasn't a great deal left of him, but what there was got buried." A shiver scurried down her back like spider legs. "He was horrible, Taran. Terrifying; worse than Achren. I thought he was going to kill you. Both of us. He gave me a dreadful tossing about just before he was going to smite you."

The knot on her head throbbed anew at the thought and she rubbed it absently, her mind on the memory; that black menace standing over them, the horrible shearing sound of Taran's sword breaking, Dyrnwyn heavy at her back. "For that matter you pulled my sword away rather roughly. I told you and told you not to draw it, but did you listen? That's what burned your arm."

Taran glanced down at his arm and back to her. "But then what..."

"It knocked you unconscious," Eilonwy explained. "You were lucky to miss the rest. There was an earthquake, and then the Horned King burning until...until he just...well, broke apart." She shivered again. "It was very unpleasant, and honestly, I'd rather not talk about it. It still gives me bad dreams, even when I'm not asleep."

He glowered at her behind those long lashes. Oh dear, they really were _very_ long. "Eilonwy, I want you to tell me very slowly and carefully what happened. If you don't, _I'm _going to be angry and _you're _going to be sorry."

Oh, for goodness' sake – what had she been doing but telling him everything? All his going on about stopping chatter and what-all, the ungrateful nit. He didn't know _what_ he wanted. She took a deep breath. "How—can—I—tell—you—anything" -dramatically- "—if—you—don't—want—me—to—talk?"

Taran rolled his eyes and shut them with a groan. Satisfied, she continued on. "In any case, as soon as the armies saw the Horned King was dead, they practically fell apart, too. Only not quite the same way, you know. They just ran away like...like a herd of rabbits." She frowned. "No, that isn't quite right. But it was pitiful to see grown men so frightened. By that time the Sons of Don were attacking. You should have seen the golden banners, and such handsome warriors." It had been a picture far better than a tapestry or story. "It was like...it was like...I don't even know what it was like."

Hen Wen grunted, and poked her snout into Taran's shoulder. He grinned in spite of himself. "And Hen Wen?"

"Hasn't stirred from this chamber ever since they brought you here," Eilonwy said, patting the pig's bristly back. "And neither have I."

She blushed, thinking of his hair sliding under her fingers. Thank Belin he needn't know about _that. _But now he was looking at her with an odd, searching expression, and the silence was suddenly uncomfortable. "She's a very intelligent pig," she went on, to fill it up. "Oh, gets frightened and loses her head once in a while, I suppose. And stubborn sometimes, which makes me wonder how many traits rub off between pigs and the people who keep them. Not mentioning anyone in particular, you understand." She looked sideways at him, relaxed as his mouth quirked into a sardonic curve. He opened it, and she prepared to retort to whatever snide response he had, but a rapping upon the door interrupted them both.

The door opened and Fflewddur's head appeared around it. "So!" he exclaimed, "you're back with us! Or as you might say, we're back with you!"

Taran gave a glad cry as the bard strode into the room, followed by Doli and Gurgi, who was hampered enough by a limp that Eilonwy was able to throw herself in front of him before he could bound onto the couch as eagerly as Hen Wen. "Oh no, you don't!" she cried. "No crowding! He's supposed to be resting!"

But the three of them were more than she could fend off, and Fflewddur was jovially clapping Taran on the shoulder. "Great Belin, it's good to see you, lad! A Fflam is optimistic, but I must say, it was touch and go for a while...though nothing like what you endured, or so I hear."

Gurgi was hooting with excitement. "Yes, yes! Gurgi fought for his friend with slashings and gashings! What smitings! Fierce warriors strike him about his poor tender head, but valiant Gurgi does not flee, oh no!"

Taran, smiling, patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sorry about your poor tender head," the boy said, "and that a friend should be wounded for my sake."

Gurgi was wriggling all over, his amber eyes gleaming. "What joy! What clashings and smashings! Ferocious Gurgi fills wicked warriors with awful terror and outcries." He bared his sharp teeth in a dramatic snarl.

Fflewddur laughed. "It's quite true; he was the bravest of us all. Though my stumpy friend here," he nodded toward Doli, "can do surprising things with an axe."

Doli's face broke once more into the rusty smile Eilonwy had seen in the Great Hall. He harrumphed, as though embarrassed at his own congeniality. "Never though any of you had any mettle to show. Took you all for milksops." He glanced quickly at Eilonwy, red eyes twinkling, and then turned to Taran, laying his hand on his breast and bowing. "Deepest apologies." Taran, after a moment of open-mouthed silence, smiled at the dwarf.

Eilonwy squinted, displeased at how wan the smile looked. But curiosity overcame her concern for the moment. "How did you all escape the war band?" she asked Fflewddur.

"We held them off until you were well away," the bard explained. His face shone, eyes kindling. "Some of them should have occasion to think unkindly of us for a while to come." He took a step back from the couch into the center of the room, the better to dramatize. "There we were, fighting like madmen, hopelessly outnumbered. But a Fflam never surrenders! I took on three at once. Slash! Thrust!" His feet scuffled among the rushes and his long arms flailed in the air, miming swordplay. "Another seized me from behind, the wretched coward. But I flung him off! We disengaged when we could, and made for Caer Dathyl, but it was chopping and hacking all the way – beset on all sides!" He paused, panting for breath, and then straightened up with a shrug. "So that was our part. Rather easy, when you come down to it; I had no fear of things going badly, not for an instant."

There was a loud twang from the harp – which, Eilonwy noted, had been silent throughout his monologue to that point. Fflewddur flinched, and grinned sheepishly. He bent close to Taran's head and whispered, "Terrified. Absolutely green."

Taran tried to laugh, but it turned into a weak cough, and he leaned his head wearily into his pillow. Eilonwy pushed between him and Fflewddur, shoving the bard toward the door and herding Gurgi and Doli after him. "Begone, all of you! You'll wear him out with your chatter." They all went, chuckling, and she stood sentry in the doorway, arms crossed. "And stay out! No one's to come in until I say they can."

A deep voice over her shoulder made her jump. "Not even I?"

Eilonwy whirled around with a little squeak of surprise. Gwydion was standing there, his expression serious as usual; but his green eyes sparkled.

A cry and a dull thump made her turn back around. Taran had sprung from his couch and promptly tumbled to the floor; he was staring up at the prince, speechless, disbelief written on his face. Eilonwy scrambled to help him as he attempted to rise to his knees; he wavered, stammering. "Gwyd- Lord Gwydion?"

Gwydion strode forward, bent and lifted the boy to his feet as though he were a mere feather. "That is no greeting from a friend to a friend." He smiled his rare smile. "It gives me more pleasure to remember an Assistant Pig-Keeper who feared I would poison him in the forest near Caer Dallben."

Taran's face was still a mask of bewilderment, his eyes welling, his breath broken. With a stab of guilt Eilonwy realized that she hadn't included Gwydion's reappearance in her recounting of yesterday's events. Had she mentioned him at all? No, she hadn't; Taran was gasping out, "After Spiral Castle, I – I never thought to see you alive."

And then...oh, Llyr, he was _crying,_ his face bent over the prince's hand, obscured by the curtain of his hair. Heart twisting, Eilonwy slid an arm around his back, berating herself. _Fool. __You might have thought to mention that detail and spare him the shock; it's not as though Gwydion wasn't completely crucial to the whole business. How _could _you forget? _Her own eyes filled as she followed Gwydion's motion to guide Taran back to the couch.

"A little more alive than you are," Gwydion chuckled, settling him back down, and sitting upon the edge. Taran gathered up the bedclothes and wiped his eyes, staring at the prince as though he could not look long enough.

"The sword," he exclaimed, noting the black weapon at Gwydion's side. "How did…?"

"Ah, yes," Gwydion said, with a quick smile at Eilonwy. "A gift. A royal gift from a young lady."

"I girded it on him myself," Eilonwy declared, and added, to Gwydion but _at_ Taran, "I told him not to draw it, but he's impossibly stubborn."

Taran scowled at her and she smirked, satisfied to see some color return to his face. "Well," Gwydion noted, amusement in his voice, "fortunately you did not unsheathe it entirely. I fear the flame of Dyrnwyn would have been too great, even for an Assistant Pig-Keeper." He lifted the scabbard and ran a hand over the engraving. "It is a weapon of power, as Eilonwy recognized, so ancient that I believed it no more than a legend. There are deep secrets concerning Dyrnwyn, unknown even to the wisest. Its loss destroyed Spiral Castle and was a severe blow to Arawn."

Eilonwy started at this, and she and Taran exchanged glances. She had suspected it was the sword's removal that had destroyed the castle – felt it in the breaking of the barrier, in the dissolving of the web that held its stones together – but a blow to Arawn? And she had struck it herself. Unknowingly, but still. A flush of pride swept over her in a pleasant, giddy wave.

Gwydion stepped back and drew Dyrnwyn, holding the blade up. A shimmer of white flame flickered up its length; Eilonwy almost heard it crackle joyously, felt the hairs on her arms stand up as they did during a lightning storm. The metallic edge of magic threaded through her nose and mouth and she wrinkled both in distaste. Taran gasped, and clutched at his bandaged arm; Gwydion noticed, and quickly sheathed the weapon again.

Eilonwy shut her eyes; the prince and the sword made a shining white blaze in her mind, their wills and purposes so entwined they might as well have been one, as perfectly joined as the warp and weft of threads on a loom. She opened her eyes again, smiling, satisfied. "I knew Lord Gwydion was the one who should keep Dyrnwyn as soon as I saw him," she said. Dyrnwyn pulsed at her, a little smugly, and she added for measure, "I must say I'm glad to have done with the clumsy thing."

Taran made an impatient gesture. "Do stop interrupting. Let me find out what happened to my friend before you start babbling."

She was about to retort to this, but, noticing that he still cradled his limp arm, bit it back. One must make allowances for people who were ill and in pain, and besides Gwydion was talking again. She stuck her tongue out at him surreptitiously over Gwydion's shoulder; Taran pretended not to notice.

"I shall not weary you with a long tale," Gwydion was saying. "You already know Arawn's threat has been turned aside. He may strike again, how or when no man can guess. But for the moment there is little fear."

"But what of Achren and Spiral Castle?" Taran asked.

Eilonwy looked up quickly as Gwydion's keen green gaze flicked toward her and away again. "I was not in Spiral Castle when it crumbled," he said, in words that felt, to her, somewhat veiled. "Achren took me from my cell and bound me to a horse. With the Cauldron-Born, we rode to the castle of Oeth-Anoeth."

Eilonwy had never heard the name, but it formed itself into a writhing, formless dread in her mind. She shuddered, repulsed. Taran was repeating it curiously, as though it were just another word. "It is a stronghold of Annuvin," Gwydion explained, "not far from Spiral Castle, raised when Arawn held wider sway over Prydain. A place of death. Its walls are filled with human bones." He was silent for a moment, and she felt him searching for words, weighing the balance between hard fact and too much darkness.

"I could foresee the torments Achren had planned," he went on, "yet before she thrust me into its dungeons, she gripped my arm, and asked why I would choose death when she could offer me eternal life and power beyond the grasp of mortal minds. She ruled Prydain long before Arawn, and it was she who made him king over Annuvin. She gave him his power, and he used it to betray her."

Eilonwy snorted scornfully. Gwydion raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you doubt it? She spoke the truth – what truth she has. You know better than most of what she was capable, yet the Achren you know is but a shadow of her former self." He shook his head. "It was no bluff. She offered me the very throne of Annuvin, to rule in Arawn's stead."

Taran gaped. "Just like that?"

Gwydion looked grim. "She had her terms. There is no need to elaborate upon them. It is enough to say that I told her I would gladly overthrow Arawn, and use that power to destroy her along with him."

Eilonwy held her breath, picturing Achren's rage at being so refused. Gwydion, sensing her tension, cast her a knowing glace. "She was not pleased," he said dryly - an understatement if ever there was one. "She cast me into the lowest dungeon. I have never been so close to death."

He paused. The silence in the chamber was broken by the wheezing of Hen Wen, who had gone back to sleep in the corner. "How long I lay there, I cannot be sure," Gwydion went on after a moment. "Time in Oeth-Anoeth is not as you know it here. I will not speak of the torments Achren had devised. She is past mistress in the infliction of pain both in body and mind; despair was her greatest weapon. Yet even in my deepest anguish I clung to hope; for I knew this about Oeth-Anoeth: if a man withstand it, even death will give up its secrets to him."

Once again silence fell. Eilonwy, reaching out in mental sympathy, felt the prince blocking her, his iron will a shield against her probing, but even it had its flaws, cracks where the force of his experience leaked through: infinitesimal glimpses of unimaginable suffering. She gasped as one struck her; Gwydion looked at her sharply, and shook his head: a warning of which she had no further need.

"I withstood it," he murmured, almost to himself. "At the end, much was revealed to me which before had been clouded. Of this, all you need know is that I understood the workings of life and death, of laughter and tears, endings and beginnings. I saw the truth of the world, and knew no chains could hold me. My bonds were light as dreams. The moment I knew it, the walls of my prison melted away."

Eilonwy sighed without realizing she'd been holding her breath again. A new worry was prickling at her. She had not missed Gwydion's use of the present tense when referring to Achren, and she almost could not give voice to the fear it spawned. "What..." she broke off, and tried to clear the choking feeling in her throat. "What became of Achren?"

"I do not know," said Gwydion, looking at her squarely, though with regret. "I did not see her thereafter."

Eilonwy swallowed. It had never occurred to her that Achren might not have been in the castle when it fell. The thought of her roaming about, somewhere out in the world, like a snake hidden somewhere in a room..._no. _No, it couldn't be born. She wouldn't think of it. Achren was dead. She had to be.

"For some days I lay concealed in the forest to heal my injuries," Gwdyion went on, addressing Taran. "Spiral Castle was in ruins when I returned to seek you; and there I mourned your death."

"As we mourned yours," Taran returned.

"I set out for Caer Dathyl again, following the same path Fflewddur chose for you," Gwydion said. "I did not cross the valley until much later, and by then I had outdistanced you a little. I understand there were a few detours on your journey." His face broke into humorous lines. "That day, a gwythaint plunged from the sky toward me, and to my surprise it neither attacked nor sped away after seeing me. It fluttered before me, crying strangely. The language of any living creature is no longer secret to me, and I understood from it that a band of travelers was journeying from the hills nearby, accompanied by a white pig."

Eilonwy looked from Gwydion to Taran in shock, and the boy returned her astonished gaze. "The gwythaint!" both burst out at the same time. Taran sat up straight, his face flushed, hand thrown out to her in excitement. She grabbed it, exclaiming, "The one you-"

He was already babbling, "It _didn't_-"

She laughed, breathless. "I _knew_ you did the right thing!"

He was laughing too, his eyes alight, and she thought, for the tiniest moment, that he was going to hug her. Before she could think about what she would do if he did, he had checked himself and flopped back onto his pillows with a relieved sigh. He did not, however, let go of her hand.

Gwydion was grinning, waiting for them to compose themselves. "Indeed," he said, "it had a tale to tell, and I learned a few other things of the ways of Assistant Pig-Keepers. But meanwhile I hastened to retrace my steps. By then, Hen Wen sensed I was close at hand. When she ran from you, she ran not in terror, but to find me. What I learned from her was more important than I had suspected, and I understood why Arawn's champion sought her so desperately. The Horned King realized she knew the one thing that could destroy him."

"And what was that?" Taran asked.

Gwydion cast a sidelong glance at the sleeping pig. "His secret name."

"His name?" Taran stammered; she thought he seemed a little deflated, as though he'd been expecting something more exciting. "I don't...how is a name so powerful?"

Eilonwy sat back, thoughtful. Of course. Names were the most powerful elements of magic; a name was the essence of a thing, and whoever knew and understood it had the ability to create or destroy at a word. You couldn't do a spell without them; for magical purposes a thing didn't even _exist_ until it was named correctly.

Gwydion spread his hands. "When you have courage to look upon evil, seeing it for what it is and calling it by its true name, it is powerless against you. Yet even with all my understanding, I could not have discovered the Horned King's name without Hen Wen. She told it to me in the forest. I had no need of letter sticks or tomes of enchantment, for now we can speak as one heart and mind to each other." He looked affectionately over at the pig again, and she snorted and raised her head as though she knew they spoke of her. She beamed at Gwydion.

"The gwythaint, circling overhead, led me to the Horned King...where he was just about to make an end of two courageous young people," the prince concluded, "an act which was my very satisfying pleasure to prevent. The rest you know – or, at least, Eilonwy does, and presumably has filled you in."

"Mostly," Eilonwy answered, blushing again at forgetting to include him. "Where is the gwythaint now?"

Gwydion looked grave. "I do not know. I doubt she will return to Annuvin, for Arawn would rend her to pieces once he learned what she had done. I only know she has repaid your kindness in the fullest measure."

Taran's smile lit his face once more. Gwydion rose from the couch. "Rest now," he ordered. "Later we shall speak of happier things."

He was so tall his head nearly brushed the beams of the ceiling as he stood up. Eilonwy thought of that first glimpse of him in the woods, the proud, straight bearing; thought back further to that strange, unintelligible sound she'd heard just before the Horned King had burst into flames. _His name…_

Pure morbid curiosity made her call him. "Lord Gwydion." He turned. "What was the Horned King's secret name?"

Gwydion cocked an eyebrow at her and grinned. "It must remain a secret." He patted her on the cheek. "But I assure you, it was not half as pretty as your own."

The door shut behind him, and she sighed dreamily. Taran snorted, and she turned to see him smirking at her. "Did you really think he'd tell you that?" he said.

"You never know until you ask," she retorted, "and he's already told me more than Achren ever did – though of course that was about things that actually concerned me."

A chill swept her, and she fell silent, brooding. Taran, who still had her hand, squeezed it comfortingly. "You're worried about Achren," he murmured, a statement rather than a question. She bit her lip and nodded, tears pricking at her eyes.

"I...I'll be all right," she said hastily, blinking them away. "It's just...I've been so sure she was dead. It's rather a shock to find out she might not be. I'll always be looking over my shoulder now."

"She might be dead, though," Taran said. He tugged at her hand. "Gwydion didn't say she _wasn't. _And if she is you'll have wasted all that time looking for nothing. I'd just bet she _is _dead. She'd have found some way to stop us if she weren't."

"Maybe." She sniffed, and gave him a watery smile. "Anyway we got here, didn't we? And I'm sure Caer Dathyl is quite safe from her, even if she _is _alive."

"Yes, no doubt," he said. His gaze wandered; he stared down at the blanket and picked at a stray thread with his free hand. "Even Achren wouldn't take on the Sons of Don in their own fortress. You're safe enough here."

Eilonwy narrowed her eyes at him. Something in his manner was making her heartbeat do odd things. "Isn't that what I just said?"

His gaze flitted back to her and away again, and the flush in his cheeks darkened. "I was just thinking," he stammered, "that she wouldn't take on Dallben either."

Eilonwy blinked.

Taran cleared his throat. "If...if, you know, you ever wanted to see...I mean, I know it wouldn't be very exciting compared to Caer Dathyl, but I thought you might...you know, just for a visit..." He let go of her hand, suddenly self-conscious, and ran his fingers through his hair. "It would be safe there. Dallben's the most powerful enchanter in Prydain. He might even be able to teach you; I mean, if you wanted to...of course it isn't anything like so grand as...well, never mind. Forget it…I only..."

"Taran," she blurted. He shut his mouth with a snap, and stared at her anxiously. Eilonwy bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. "Are you inviting me to Caer Dallben?"

He let his breath out in a whoosh of relief. "I just thought perhaps you'd like to see it."

She grinned. "I was going to invite myself if you didn't. So thank you for sparing me from such bad manners."

Taran's chuckle was weak and he laid his head back again, as though the exchange had taken every ounce of his strength. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath, let it go in a long sigh. "You'll like it," he murmured. "It's quiet. Peaceful. It'll be near midsummer by the time we get there...less work in the field. You wait until the first storm, when you smell the rain on the crops. And there's fishing at the spring...an' strawberries and raspberries'll be ripe." His voice was trailing away into a drowsy slur. "Fresh milk ev'ry day, an' butter 'n' cream...Coll moves the cooking spit over the firepit outside, and we sit out and watch the...fireflies in the evening, 'n' hear the crickets singing...s'lovely."

"I'm sure it is," she whispered, tucking his covers around him, pausing with her hand hovering over his face, which had sunk into stillness once again. She hesitated, fighting an impulse; how could you _want_ so badly to do something and be so completely terrified to do it?

_Hang it all. _Impulse won; her hand moved; she smoothed his hair back from his pale forehead, bent, and kissed the dark line where the two met.

Taran twitched, and mumbled something unintelligible. Eilonwy rose, feeling warm and strangely elated, sat on the window ledge, swung her legs over the sill, and dropped to the grass outside. She gathered up her skirts, kicked off her slippers, and ran.


	31. Dark of the Moon

She dreamed that night, as she always did in the dark of the moon - one of her vivid, sharp-edged dreams; but not, for once, a nightmare.

In it, she stood once again by the fountain where she'd spoken with Gwydion, and had just pulled her bauble out to show him when it slipped from her hands and rolled away, just as it had done the day it had led her to Taran's cell.

Only this time, when she chased it, it kept rolling, on and on, over flagstone and turf by turns, ever out of reach. Presently it reached the bottom of a steep slope, and instead of stopping, began to bounce _up_ the grade. When her surprise made her pause and look up, she realized that she was no longer in Caer Dathyl. The castle and its surrounding lands were nowhere in sight. Instead, an expanse of wild, rolling green moor, criss-crossed by low stone walls but unbroken by tree or shrub, stretched to the horizon in every direction save the one directly in front of her. To her right, the sky was kindled to gold and scarlet by the setting sun. The slope rose in front of her feet; as she gazed up its expanse, a silver sliver of the moon peeped over its topmost edge. The air was sticky; she took a long breath, and salt prickled in her nose and mouth. The pleasant sting of it rippled through her like a current, quickening her blood, tingling at her fingertips and toes. She sucked it in again, and threw herself in a mad scramble up the slope, following the mocking firefly path of her bauble.

The ground was so steep she had to bend almost double, grabbing at clumps of marsh grass, finding handholds upon the craggy limestone that jutted from the ground. Her bare feet dug into the soft turf; the rich, green smell of bruised moss and displaced earth mingled with the brine of the air and somehow the combination filled her with inexplicable longing. Almost she paused to examine it, but her bauble was flitting very near the top of the slope, and the pull to see what was over the edge was inexorable.

As she neared the heights, the sun slid beneath the lip of the earth and the brilliance of the western sky faded to turquoise and lavender. But the sliver of moon visible over the slope had become a wedge, and then a half-circle, and, as she crested the top and the land fell away at her feet, a great, milky-white disc, impossibly enormous, whose bottom rim floated upon a dark, white-flecked mass that seemed to fill the whole world beneath her.

Eilonwy stopped short with a gasp. A blast of wind coated her face in salted mist, flinging her tangled hair wildly upon its waves, jerking at the tatters of her gown. The dark mass below was a roiling tumult of liquid and foam and spray, ever shifting, its roaring in her ears a continuous ebb and flow like the fathomless breath of the earth itself. The sound tore through her, thundering, pulling an answering cry from her own throat, though she did not know if she laughed or wept.

Moonlight glinted upon the cliff face; a steep, rocky footpath, hugging the wall, beckoned her downward. She stooped to snatch her bauble from the edge where it had finally rolled to a stop, and without hesitation set her feet upon the wet stone. The height was dizzying, but she felt no fear, only a fierce, primal elation. She strode downward; the black rocks at the base grew nearer; billows of water crashed upon them, shattering into glowing explosions of spray that flattened her against the cliff face, exuberant, ecstatic. She raised her arms toward the water and watched the droplets quiver and sparkle on her skin. They clung to her, curious but familiar, like the embrace of a loved one long absent.

The pathway twisted downward until it ended in the riotous surf; whatever beach lay at the bottom of the cliff, it was swallowed up beneath the tide. For the first time she hesitated, but within moments a wave swept in, enveloping her ankles, her knees, dragging at her robes. But its pull was a welcome, an invitation; she stepped into it willingly, and the water buoyed her away from the rocks, immersed but floating at the surface, light as foam.

The last pale light of the sun had burned away, but the brightness of the full moon filled the horizon and cast its glow through the dome of the sky, blotting out all but a few bright stars furthest from it. All around her, the water and sky and she herself were sapped of color; the whole world was silver and grey and black.

The cliffs and land had disappeared, the roar of surf upon rock had melted away into the soft, languid song of water yielding to water. Before her the moon seemed to sit at the edge of a bowl, half-enveloped in the water, casting a shifting pattern of liquid light upon its surface. No sooner had it occurred to her that this looked exactly like a pathway than she found herself standing upon it.

She looked down in surprise. Water splashed at her instep and ankles, and nothing beneath her feet felt solid, yet she was standing, the sea spread around her in a rippling circle. It was an indescribable sensation.

The path of light winked and beckoned. She stepped carefully, half expecting to sink, but nothing changed. Another step, and another; there were no pebbles underfoot to pass over, no solid objects to mark the passage of space; the water shifted too constantly to use it as a bearing, and she could not tell whether her feet propelled her forward or merely moved in place.

She kept moving because there was nothing else to do, and could not tell how much time passed. It may have been hours, or minutes, but presently she saw that the moon looked larger, as though it were coming nearer. In a few more steps she knew it _was_ nearer; it was brilliant, and the shadows that usually speckled its surface were blotted out in the glow. It towered over her head, as big as a cottage, a castle, a mountain; its edges blurred and were lost in a mist of light, until she could see nothing but whiteness all around.

Directionless, she stopped walking and stood still in expectation. There was a presence here that she felt certain would reveal itself, and she waited for it, patient beyond her wont.

She did not wait long. In front of her the light coalesced, became somehow thick and solid, became a discernible figure, walking toward her.

Eilonwy squinted, perplexed. The figure was of a girl, robed in white, whose build and height were so similar to her own that for a moment she thought she was looking into a mirror. But the face was not hers; at least, she didn't think so, though she could not say exactly what she saw - as though she could not remember the features from one moment to the next; but only a pair of bright and eager eyes. The girl smiled a friendly, familial smile, and held out a slim hand in welcome.

Instinctively, Eilonwy reached out and took it, and then stared at it, startled. The hand that closed around hers was not the slender paw of a girl but the strong, long-fingered grasp of a grown woman, one who stood now in the girl's place, tall and regal and glorious. Her long silver-white hair streamed nearly to her feet; silver and pearls gleamed at her brow and temples. The indescribable beauty of her face made Eilonwy suck in her breath, suddenly ashamed of her own shabby state in the presence of such a queen, and she trembled and nearly fell. But the woman's eyes were proud and kind, and she reached out and caressed her cheek with her other hand.

_Mother,_ she thought suddenly, unwittingly. No, of course not. But...

Both white hands cupped her face, and the woman bent over her and kissed her brow. The long curtain of silver hair blew about her like a snow flurry, carrying a smell that was like nothing she could describe. It made her heart swell and then break, made her want to laugh and cry and sing and go to sleep all at once.

She blinked, and shook herself, and the hair fell away, only now it was wispy, its long silken curls thinned into remnants like shreds of grey cloud. The hands that cupped her cheeks trembled a little, and as they pulled away to clasp her hand again she saw, with a shock, that they were twisted and bony, gnarled like tree roots. The face that had hovered over her a moment ago now stared at her, wizened and wrinkled, from her own height; but the crone's bright eyes were the same eyes as the woman's and the girl's, though softer, perhaps, and shrewder.

Eilonwy stood still, breathless, unsure what was expected of her. Her bauble flared suddenly and she glanced at it, startled; she had forgotten that she still clutched it, and she held it up before the old woman, who took it gently, smiling. In the gnarled hand it flared again, and the light held steady and waxed brilliant, almost too bright to look at. As its rays fell upon the woman her figure glowed almost as bright, and trembled until Eilonwy could not tell which one of the three it was, or whether it were all three at the same time. Though the bauble's warm glow usually gilded whatever it illuminated, it seemed powerless to do so now; the woman remained silver-white, untouched by any hint of gold.

There was a hand on her cheek again, a light touch upon her hair, and suddenly the light flickered and went out.

It was as abrupt as death. Eilonwy sat up with a gasp...and saw daylight filtering in through the casement of her chamber at Caer Dathyl.

Twisting out of the sheets, she tumbled out of bed and scrambled to the window as though expecting to see the moors and the cliff and the moon rising over them. When only the familiar treetops and rolling farmland met her eyes, she slid to the floor with a sob and wept onto the carpet.

Weeping had the unintended effect of fully waking her up. Presently she scoffed at herself, and sat up, sniffling. Crying over a dream! It was all very well to cry after a nightmare, but..._Llyr!_ All the same she kept sniffling as she crawled back into bed. Disappointment, she decided, was to blame - frustration that something so lovely had ended so suddenly, with no warning. It was worse than having your dinner snatched away when you were only halfway through.

Desperately she clung to the fragments of the dream, trying to commit it to memory before it dissolved. The cliff and the sea, the foam on the rocks, treading upon the water up the path to the moon...a lovely bit of poetic nonsense, that. She'd not dare tell it to anyone; it sounded daft. Taran would probably laugh at the whole thing, and ask what she'd eaten the night before. She felt irritated with him, just thinking about it.

Her bauble sat nearby on its table by the bed, and she looked at it dubiously, halfway wondering if it was in _exactly_ the same place she'd left it.

Restlessly she burrowed deeper into the bedclothes, frowned when she sensed something amiss about them, and threw them back. She stared, horrified, and looked down at herself. How had she not noticed _this?_

There was blood on the sheets, blood on her nightshift and all over her own legs.

Ugh. _This._ Achren had warned her of it; had, in fact, made a particular point of demanding to be notified the first time it happened, with that special sort of ominous significance she reserved for plans that were particularly unpleasant. It had made an already strange concept even more unappealing, but _thank the gods_ she wasn't with Achren now. Or...well, thank somebody. It didn't seem exactly their domain; things like this never happened to _them, _did it? Eilonwy scowled, disgruntled with the entire aggregate of divine maleness; thought of the lady in her dream, and felt marginally better.

She was wondering feebly what to do with the soiled bedclothes when her nurse arrived, bustling in with no warning as usual. In this, however, Eilonwy was pleasantly surprised, for she seemed to have stumbled upon the one area that touched the sympathies of the woman. To be sure, there was rather a dreadful lot of benevolent exclamation and fuss made over her, and gritting her teeth when the nurse called her "sweet lamb" and "poor dear"; several embarrassing questions turned out to have even more embarrassing answers; and she was left, more than ever, feeling blessedly thankful to be out of Achren's clutches, afraid even to wonder what would have happened otherwise.

But eventually she was cleaned up, brought tea and breakfast and...oh, joy, a pile of _books_...and told to stay in bed as long as she liked, all with a deference that the nurse had not heretofore shown her. When she called her "milady" now, it sounded like she meant it, and she acquiesced to every request without a negative remark. The only point on which the nurse was adamant was that Eilonwy must stay in her chamber, but this was not worth arguing over, as she had no desire to mingle with her companions anyway. Which was curious, but - perhaps the least of all curious and upsetting things this morning.

Eilonwy shoved it away to examine it later, balanced a teacup on one knee, and picked up a book.

* * *

_I should maybe have titled this one "How much tropey symbolism CW can cram into one chapter" and I apologize to any male readers if this gets a little too earthy for you; it's our lot in life, you know, and it had to happen sometime. Better here than with nothing but a bunch of guys at Caer Dallben!_


End file.
